


lemon eyes

by turnyourankle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Louis, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bike Accident, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Harry dates other people in this, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Masturbation, Omega Harry, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, Slick as Lube, Smut, but nothing happens with them so i'm not sure if it requires a harry/omc tag...?, some actual content tags, they kind of share that, yes you read that right an ABO fic that is versatile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-06 08:47:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 50,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnyourankle/pseuds/turnyourankle
Summary: It's not proper for omegas to mess around with alphas before finding their bondmate. But Harry doesn't give a damn what's proper and fully intends on getting as much experience as he can before even trying to find one. As far as he's concerned, the right alpha won't care, and he'll have some fun on the way.And who better to start with than Louis Tomlinson, the alpha with the worst reputation on campus?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write a versatile ABO fic for the longest time so I'm very happy that I finally got to do that. The title is from the Meg Myers' song of the same name, [Lemon Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PqG9hsjLf3M). 
> 
> Massive thanks to Nina for looking this over for me, even while unfinished. To Kati for cheerleading along the way and reading unedited snippets and still heaping me with encouragement. To Ellie who will never read this because she doesn't read ABO, and still was incredibly supportive and made sure I slogged through the boring bits and got the words down. And thank you to Sammie for britpicking after this was already posted. 
> 
> The second chapter (20k) is already completed I'm just finishing up the last and third one before I post it. Hoping to have the full thing up within two weeks.
> 
> Also, in case the tags and the above wasn't clear enough: this fic is vers. Both Harry and Louis top and bottom.

Harry spots Louis Tomlinson as soon as he walks into the party. He’s not easy to miss, drawing everyone towards him like a beacon, his voice loud as he commandeers the those around him; his admirers.

Harry swallows as he watches on, absentmindedly following Liam towards the refreshments. Niall hands him a cup and Harry drinks from it without even asking what it is, immediately regretting it as the lukewarm beer hits his tongue.

“This isn’t even cold,” Harry says and Liam just shrugs at him as he continues to sip from his cup. “The punch at least has ice cubes in it.” Harry pouts, contemplating whether it’s worth throwing out his beer. It would be a waste.

“Don’t want to start off that hard yet, do you?” Liam asks and maybe he has a tiny point. There’s no way to know how much liquor’s in the punch and, well. Harry’d rather remember at least part of this party. He needs his wits about him if he’s going to seduce Louis.

If Liam can tell that Harry’s distracted, he makes no note of it, quickly leading them outside towards the back garden patio, where Niall’s already sat with a few old classmates.

Niall calls out to them and makes room on his lounge chair. Liam sits himself down easily and Niall offers some of his mixed drink to the both of them.

They’ve only been out there for a short while when Harry notices movement from the corner of his eye, and from the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he knows it can only be Louis. It has to be. 

He’s trying to be discreet and not turn around immediately, that is, until Niall winks at him obviously. “Hey, Haz,” Niall starts and Harry widens his eyes in alarm, trying to quiet him down.

“I think I need a refill,” Harry announces, and Liam turns with a quirk of his brow.

“Fetch me one too, yeah?”

“Yeah, right,” Harry says, letting his beer slosh around in his cup. He’s only downed half of it, but it’ll do. Liquid courage or not, this is his moment.

No one seems to miss him as he steps away, and no one seems to pay attention that he’s actually walking farther away from the house, not towards it. 

A bit deeper into the garden, by the shed, he spots Louis. He’s lighting up what looks like a fag as he leans against the building. As soon as it catches the flame, Harry’s nostrils flare at the pungent smell.

Definitely not a cigarette. 

Harry must make a startled noise, because Louis’ expression stills as he notices Harry. He beckons him closer with a wave. The light from the butt of his joint casts a glow over his hands, his face, and Harry’s breath catches. 

“D’you want some?” Louis asks and well. It’s not on Harry’s list, but he doesn’t see how it could hurt. If anything it’d probably give him even more of an in with Louis. 

“Sure,” Harry says, and Louis hands him the joint. Harry tries to hold it the same way Louis did. He’s gotta inhale though, he knows, and he takes a deep breath feeling the smoke fill his mouth to the brim. It stings far more than he thought it would, as if his throat has dried up and he’s shocked that he didn’t expect it. He tries to hold in a cough but fails, bringing his fist to his bitten lips. The smoke billows out of him in bursts. 

“S’a bit strong, don’t want to overdo it,” Louis comments, taking the spliff back.

Louis’ mouth quirks before he catches the spliff between his lips. The way his mouth moves when he does that, cheeks hollowing--

Christ, it’s no wonder he’s got a reputation.

Which, right. Is why Harry’s here. To make a move. He takes another swig from his cup, hoping Louis can’t scent his nerves through the fog of the pot. It does little to make his throat feel normal again, and he takes another sip under Louis’ watchful eye.

Harry can barely smell Louis, the fog of pot still cocooning them, and still he’s mesmerized. Again, no wonder Louis’ got a reputation of someone who gets around, from how he’s able to leave Harry speechless without even scenting him. Who could possibly resist him?

Harry can do this, he can.

“D’you want to talk?” Harry asks, tipping his head carefully. He intends it to look seductive, coy and proper omega-ish with the way his hair is loose around his face. Looking up at Louis through his eyelashes. But he can tell, as he does it, that it comes off aloof.

From the way Louis’ eyebrows quirk up, maybe that’s not a bad thing.

“We’re talking now, aren’t we?” It’s not so much a challenge as an out, Harry thinks, which. Well, he’s not sure. Is it gentlemanly or is it a way of letting Harry down easy? Rumors all spread about how easy Louis was for omega arse, Harry really thought all he’d had to do was offer himself up and he’d get what he wanted.

Why had he been so naive? 

Louis takes another drag, and puts out the joint against the wall. “Unless you meant like, in private?” 

Harry perks up, yes. In private. Those must be the magic words.

“Yeah,” he responds and he doesn’t even feel bad for how desperate he must sound right now. Desperate is what Louis like, supposedly. No matter that it makes Harry’s stomach burn with how real the feeling is, how aptly that word describes him right now. All he needs is one easy snog, and then he can walk away for good. 

Louis’ eyes flicker across Harry’s face, and then dip down to his chest. For a second Harry feels like Louis might be able to see his heart as it beats against his chest. Of course he can’t. He’s not superhuman. Louis’ nostrils flare minutely, and Harry thinks he spots a slight tremble as Louis brings the spliff to his mouth again. 

“I think my bedroom should be free,” Louis says with a lick of his lips and Harry shivers with it. 

Harry has to steady himself where he stands, fingers gripping tightly around his cup. A bedroom doesn’t sound like a good idea at all. Sounds like Harry would be promising a lot more than he wants to give. Even though, _Christ_. He knows if he got into that situation he wouldn’t be able to say no.

So he has to say no now. He shakes his head with a pout, says, “That’s too far.”

Louis chuckles, bringing the back of his hand to his mouth as he sticks his hands into his pockets.

“Well. What do you suggest then, love?” Louis asks and the endearment pulses beneath Harry's skin. He’s heard Louis call other Os that before, he knows it’s a thing for him, so he has no idea what it hits him so hard. He wants to hear it again.

“How bout the shed? S’your house, right? Must know where the key is?” 

Louis tips his head and repeats, “The shed? Right.” He scrubs his face and looks at Harry carefully, as if trying to suss out his motives.

For once, Harry isn’t too concerned. Their motives are the same, or they should be. A quick, private snog. Good enough that Louis might remember Harry, although he’ll never know his name. And good enough that Harry can tuck the memory away into his back pocket and use it to propel him towards crossing off the rest of his list.

“Yeah, alright,” Louis concedes. He bumps Harry’s shoulder as he passes him by. “You’ll be here when I get back, won’t you?” There’s a hint of something in his voice that Harry can’t quite decipher. Especially not now that he’s trying to stop the world from going fuzzy.

“Of course,” Harry answers, and he’s quite certain he smiles very dopily at Louis but he also really can’t control himself.

Harry collapses against the side of the shed, his exhale low and needy as he rubs the back of his head against the wood. He’s doing it. He’s gonna snog Louis Tomlinson’s face off. It’s so easy he can’t even process it. Just asking for a private talk, and he’s in. He almost wants to laugh at how stupid it is; he could’ve done this ages ago.

It feels like no time has passed when Louis returns, Harry too busy trying to pinpoint the feeling in his chest and in his face. He blinks lazily as Louis approaches, unlocking the door right next to Harry. He thinks he moves towards the door, but his back slides against the wall. As if he’s not quite in complete control of his limbs.

“You quite certain about this?” Louis asks and he’s so _polite_ it makes Harry want to whine. 

“Yes,” Harry answers, and it comes out far more forceful than Harry intends, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind at all, holding the flimsy door open.

“After you.”

Harry blinks, and his heart aches again at the chivalry. He ducks his head as he steps into the shed, trying to make himself smaller. Trying to make himself just like all the other Os Louis must’ve copped off with over the years.

“S’not good for your back, hunching like that,” Louis comments, smoothing his hand along Harry’s spine, and it’s all he needs to unfurl himself. Harry makes an embarrassing sound, but Louis doesn’t seem to mind, hands finding their way around Harry’s waist. Harry goes easily, turning to face Louis.

Harry’s always known how fit Louis is, even those not interested in As could see it. It was an objective truth, like that summer came after spring and marshmallows tasted best warm and gooey. Louis Tomlinson was the fittest bloke to attend their uni, and everyone knew it.

But up close? It’s even harder to process up close. Harry can see every pore, every eyelash. And he just wants to get closer, his heart thumping in his chest violently.

One of Louis’ hands cups Harry’s jaw, and that’s when Harry notices it’s hanging open. Great bloody impression to make, he thinks before Louis’ thumb moves over his lower lip.

“You’ve got an amazing mouth, love,” Louis says and it’s Harry can do not to suck on Louis’ thumb. Not that he thinks he’d mind, from the way his eyes are intent on Harry’s mouth. But still.

“You too,” Harry responds, and Louis drops his hand at that. He doesn’t seem to be expecting the compliment, and he blinks. 

Louis is only without control for a split second, but Harry takes the opportunity to claim it for himself, his hands cradling Louis’ face and mashing his mouth against Louis’.

Harry’s kissed girls before, and a couple guys, but it’s never felt like this. This electric. His lips prickle, and his cheeks and his eyes have slipped shut. His nose presses into Louis’ as they kiss, and Harry still wants to get closer, somehow. 

Louis’ mouth is eager against Harry’s and he just-- he wants to sink into it. Get lost in the feeling. Tongue sliding against his. 

A strangled noise escapes his throat and he wants to pull away and hide, but it only seems to egg Louis on, who’s gotten back in control, his nose pressing firmly into Harry’s cheek as his tongue works into Harry’s mouth.

They’re moving together so forcefully that Harry knocks into a tool bar, and he yelps in pain. Louis’ hands find their way to the spot on his back that was hit. It didn’t hurt that bad, but the press of Louis’ palms against his back makes him want to get closer.

Why did Harry think a bed was a bad idea, again?

“C’mere,” Louis says as he pushes himself onto the tool bench. He spreads his legs making for Harry to step between them. “I can handle it if you knock me about,” Louis comments and Harry’s eyes practically roll to the back of his skull. How is he supposed to survive this? How does anyone ever survive this? 

Harry presses himself in the vee of Louis’ legs, and his eyes flick down to Louis’ crotch out of curiosity and fuck-- he’s definitely hard. Harry feels self conscious as he slips his hands along the sides of Louis’ thighs, fingers trembling with want, but Louis catches him easily. His palm is hot and steady at the back of Harry’s neck, and he pulls him down against his mouth.

Their lips meet again and the world goes hazy for Harry. He can tell he’s making a mess in his pants, but he doesn’t care. He’s got Louis’ tongue in his mouth, and Louis is _hard_ just for him. Harry did that. Harry did that with his mouth and his scent and-- fuck. 

Harry’s pretty sure Louis sucks the breath out him, his head going dizzy and his chest feeling empty and wide, wide open, but he doesn’t care. If this is how he goes, so be it. He can’t get over Louis’ taste. There’s the spliff, and his drink from earlier, but there’s also _him_ and Harry can’t quite figure out words for it, but Christ does he want to. 

Harry ends up sucking at Louis’ tongue, breathing ragged as they pull apart. Louis must be able to smell him, because his head drops to the crook of Harry’s neck. He pulls him closer, looping his arms around Harry’s chest.

Harry squeezes along Louis’ thighs, and he’s so close-- he could easily slip a hand down the front of Louis’ trousers and press the heel of his palm against his prick. He wonders if he’s started to knot. 

“You’re a right menace, aren’t you?” Louis asks, his nose rubbing along the base of Harry’s neck, and he tips his head, trying to give Louis more access. “Wish I hadn’t smoked ‘nything. Could taste you better,” he says, with a lick. 

Harry yelps but melts into it easily. Louis mumbles something else as his fist tighten in the back of Harry’s shirt. It’s getting awfully intimate, and Christ does Harry want to stay. He wants more, he absolutely wants more.

But if he can’t walk away now, then how will he manage to pull off the rest of his list? He’s a man on a mission, and this is only step one. He has to resist. 

Harry’s eyes slip down to Louis groin and he makes a regretful whine as he pulls away. He moves his hands alongside Louis’ thighs and ends up squeezing his knees. 

“Shouldn’t keep you from your party,” Harry says, and the look Louis give him almost shatters Harry’s resolve. It doesn’t last long, though, as Louis scrubs his face with his palms.

“Alright, yeah. Okay.” Louis exhales as he tenses his shoulders before relaxing them. His eyes seem trained on Harry’s neck as he licks his lips. Harry has to do his best not whimper under the attention; he doesn’t want Louis to glance down to his trousers, lest he see how into it Harry really is. “I’m going to need a second.”

Harry frowns at that, and he presses his fingers into Louis’ knees. He’s warm, even there. Louis shifts away from him, with a cough.

Oh.

“Oh, you mean to--” Harry moves his hand about, and his eyes drop to Louis’ crotch again. To take care of it, is how he should finish the sentence, but can’t bring himself to.

“Yeah. I need to be alone for that.” Harry nods, probably too quickly. His brain flooded with images that he needs to shake out if he’s to return to the party and act normal. He’s already a bit slick, if he thinks of Louis getting himself off he’ll for sure make an even bigger mess of himself. And he can’t quite ask to use the shed after Louis. “Unless you wanted to help,” Louis says. It’s not even a question, his voice is flat, but his eyes dart over Harry’s face attentively. 

“No, I’m--” Harry’s not even sure what to say. He can’t deny it outright, although that wasn’t his goal. He wouldn’t think getting another notch on his bedpost would be a bother for Louis at all. He’s not sober enough for that thought process. Eventually, he finishes, “I’ll leave you to it. ‘M not telling anyone.”

Louis smiles briefly, but it seems more sad than anything. 

Just before Harry walks out, Louis speaks up, “There’s cold beer in the fridge, by the way. And some ciders if you prefer something sweet.” Harry blinks in confusion, and Louis shrugs. Saw you grabbing the warm stuff that’s out there. Just. There’s better options.”

“Right, thank you.” Harry appreciates the thought but he doesn’t quite get it. He’s still frowning by the time he rejoins the party, his cup crumpled in his hands. He’s just not quite sure why Louis Tomlinson would’ve noticed him doing anything at all.

Harry wanders back into the house, focusing on the door and steering himself that way. There’s string of party hats hanging above the threshold, and Harry grabs one, slipping it over his head. He gets a couple of high fives as he makes his way into the kitchen. 

There is more beer in the fridge, and cider. Harry grabs a can of Bulmers and cracks it open. For a brief moment, as he drinks, he’s struck by how many people are around him, and the need to act normal. Don’t stand out. 

It doesn’t help that Louis implied he’d noticed him earlier. Harry gulps down some of his cider and sidesteps the fridge. He keeps the can pressed against his mouth as his eyes scan the room.

No one is paying attention to him. No one.

There’s a trio huddled in one corner of the kitchen, and there’s loud chanting coming from the living room. The couple refilling the snack bowls are too busy eating crisps from the bag to even turn his way.

He’s totally cool.

All he has to do now is avoid Louis for the rest of the party. 

Harry’s downed half of his cider by the time he rejoins Niall and Liam. 

He’s still in a haze, he tries to blame the pot but he knows, really, that it’s Louis. Because he can still taste him, still feels like he can _smell_ him, no matter how much cider he drinks or fresh air he gets. There’s neutralizers around the house, and still he can’t shake it. He’s convinced he can feel the ghost of Louis’ touch along his shoulders and his hips. He almost feels like he’s glowing. 

They were discreet, considering, but Harry still feels like people are looking at him differently. He touches his bottom lip with his thumb, trying to gauge whether it’s swollen or not. 

“D’you cut yourself?” Liam asks, and Harry quickly drops his hand. 

“Nah, jus’ thinking.”

Liam seems to accept his answer, nodding along before getting up to fetch more drinks. Harry remembers he was supposed to bring one back for Liam, who thankfully seems to have forgotten about that. Niall, however, has a smug smile on his face.

“Don’t,” Harry comments, and Niall bursts out laughing, head tipped back. His cheeks are a bit rosy.

Niall’s the only one who actually knows about Harry’s plan, and while he trusts Niall not to blab about it to people, he’s not sure that drunk Niall’s tongue won’t slip. Harry’s not...ashamed, or anything. Or he wouldn’t be doing it in the first place. But having people know would certainly make it less effective. Or well, less… genuine. Less of a challenge, since he assumes As would probably start approaching him. Not because he’s anything out of the ordinary...just. They do love easy omegas. 

Harry can’t risk it. “You seemed to have a good talk with Bressie earlier,” Harry counters, hoping to distract him. 

It seems to work,Niall dropping his head, and smile faltering into a mouth twitch. He seems to want to turn around. “‘S he watching?” Niall asks, and Harry makes an effort to spot Bressie in the room. 

Harry can’t see Bressie from where they’re stood. They moved into the house an hour ago, crowded in the kitchen where the view of the rest of the party was the best, and well. It was close to the cold drinks. 

“I can’t see him, but we could always try to find him?” 

Niall hesitates for a split second, eyes narrowing as he seems to ponder what’s in it for Harry. It’s over quickly though, as his face wrinkles and he nods eagerly. He’s biting down on his lip even as he brings his can to his mouth. “Yeah, ‘lright.”

That’s how they spend the rest of the night. Harry third wheeling as he watches Niall and Bressie dance around each other. He managed to weave his way into the conversation without stepping too much on Niall’s toes, and it kept him away from the temptation of finding Louis again.

It’s a win-win.

They leave at the same time as Bressie, Harry walking ahead without turning around to give them a moment of privacy. He huffs out a stiff breath, fists pressed inside the pockets of his jean jacket. It’s too hot for it, but the way the denim pulls against his back is comforting; constraining.

Niall’s feet slap against the pavement as he jogs to catch up with Harry. He pushes his shoulder against Harry’s.

“Asked for my number,” Niall says, elated a sweet, private smile playing over his lips. 

“And to think you thought I was going to abandon you,” Harry says, shaking his head.

Niall scoffs, and bumps his shoulders against Harry’s again. That’s enough to make Harry start to run, and they end up racing all the way back to Harry’s house. 

Harry gets there first, almost slapping his palm against the front door and catching himself before he does. It’s not like he has to deal with curfew anymore, with less than two months left in the house, but it’d still be rude to wake them all up just because he’s still riding high. 

The same thought must hit Niall a bit too late, as he’s already off the ground, shoulder ready to pound on the door. Harry ends up tackling him, and they land in a pile of limbs just outside the door.

They make a beeline towards the kitchen, Harry pressing his finger against his mouth, and Niall rolling his eyes. “I know, I know,” he mutters.

Still giddy from the party, Harry has to control his face so he doesn’t smile too much. The longer they can go without talking about it, the more likely it is that Niall will just forget.

They make themselves sandwiches with salad cream and crisps, Niall demanding to add cheese to his. They bring their plates back to Harry’s room, taking bites as they get ready for bed, still a little unsteady on both of their feet. 

The spare foam mattress is already out next to Harry’s bed and Niall flops down in it as soon as his plate is cleared, only wriggling his way out of his clothes when he’s laid out on his back. His shirt and shorts are bundled up next to his head when he asks, “So, Tomlinson?”

So Niall didn’t forget, ah well.

“Was my only chance, wasn’t it?” Harry huffs, still feeling a sense of accomplishment prickling under his skin. 

Niall shakes his head. “You know, most people put the most desirable prospect last, not first.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“H, you’ve been pining for him all year. And you decide to snog him as sort of… I dunno what to call it? Initiation or summat? Most people would save them for last and use all that practice on them.” He flexes his brows, sticking his tongue out of his mouth.

Harry sighs deeply. Niall’s missing the point. 

“That’s not the goal, it’s to get experience with a lot of different people. Not to trick some alpha into mating or ‘nything.”

“You’re the one making the rules, you know?” Niall presses and Harry rolls his eyes. They’ve gone over this. They’ve gone over this so many bloody times and Niall just won’t let it go. Once he even brought it up to Liam, as if he thought Liam could talk Harry out of it. 

All that happened was that Liam observed them both curiously, not quite understanding the significance, his beta temperament leaving him indifferent about mating etiquette, Niall rolling his eyes in disappointment. 

Yes, Harry made the rules. Which is why he intends on following them.

“Starting with him was good mojo. Now I know I can nab anyone I want for everything else. And it’s probably the last time I’ll see him anyway.”

Niall squints and shakes his head. “You go to the same uni as him?”

“He’s moving to an alpha house next year, means he won’t be around much.”

Niall laughs, a burst of a honk coming out of him before he slaps his hand over his mouth. “I can’t believe you know that!”

“What, people talk,” Harry huffs and rolls onto his back, no longer looking down at Niall where he lies. 

“Bloody hell, this is embarrassing.”

“I think it’s pretty funny that you thought I’d leave you at the party and you’re the one who ended up having a nice long goodbye chat with Bressie.”

“Oi!” Niall sounds offended, he rolls over and brings his leg up to Harry’s bed. He manages to kick Harry in the knee, and Harry scowls.

At least they’re not sharing a bed. Niall would be so much more insufferable if that were the case.

“You ‘n ‘im were gone for a solid while, ‘lright? And then you were like”-- Niall moves his hands about in front of his face--“like zoned out. Like you were just waiting for him to whisk you away.”

Harry was bloody not. “I was not.” He’s getting agitated at the thought of people thinking that about him. Yes, he’d liked the thought that people would’ve known or thought that he and Louis copped off. But he didn’t want to seem like a desperate omega waiting for more. 

That’s exactly the opposite of what Harry’s going for. 

“Even if he’d come to find me I would’ve turned him away,” Harry says resolutely.

Niall barks out a laugh, jarringly loud and he quiets himself with a fist to his mouth. 

“We’ve gone over this, Niall. When I mate I want it to be with an alpha who won’t care how many people I’ve been with. And the only way I can genuinely find that is if I actually get together with a lot of them.”

“You mean get _off_ with a lot of them,” Niall says on a heavy exhale. There’s still humor in it. Niall’s used to the speech by now, and he’s used up all his retorts. 

“S’not fair that they should be the only ones to get experience before finding a bondmate, is it? If I want to have experience with loads of different alphas that’s my decision.”

Niall nods along, placating Harry. He’s heard it all before, knows that there’s no point in arguing with Harry. Because what it comes down to is Harry doesn’t want to try and tie someone down who’s not cut out for it--which is definitely a category Louis inhabits--and he doesn’t want to get tied down himself without experience. Normally, this is when Niall would turn his back and pretend to go to sleep, unwilling to continue the discussion. 

That’s not what happens tonight, though.

“So you’ve got the heavy snog down. What else is on your list?” Niall asks and well. He’s never actually inquired directly about this before. Harry scoots closer to the edge of the bed. 

“You’re actually curious?”

Niall nods against his pillow, biting his thumbnail. “Yeah, I mean. ‘F I’m gonna help you with this I gotta know what we’re in for. You don’t have a deadline, do you? Nothing mad like getting it done before uni starts?”

Harry shakes his head, almost laughing. “No, no deadline. Just. To be responsible and enjoy myself. Cause it shouldn’t be a chore.”

“I should bloody hope not,” Niall scoffs. 

Harry reaches out to turn on his bedside lamp, and pulls out his almanac from the middle of the pile of books on his shelf.

Niall lets out a low whistle. “Hiding in plain sight.”

Harry shrugs. It’s actually a note folded into the corner of his almanac, he’s not so bold as to risking someone flipping to it. But still, yes. Hiding in plain sight sounds like an accurate description. 

He unfolds the piece of paper and hands it to Niall. Harry’s spent so long working on the list, he knows exactly what’s on it. And now that he has a tally of one, he can start a chart over his accomplishments.

Harry’s left room for additions, but so far the lists consists of:

Snogging  
Hand jobs  
Rubbing off  
Blow jobs  
Sex  
Rimming

Harry hears Niall gasp, and he turns to him. Niall looks concerned, gripping onto the sheet tightly.

“Does _sex_ mean knotting, Haz? I thought you wanted to wait?” Niall blinks, unease marring his features.

“Not--” Harry can feel his cheeks warming, “no, I mean me fucking someone. Topping.”

Niall lets out a low, involuntary, whistle. “So you still want to wait to get knotted?”

“Yeah, I mean. Not until marriage or anything. But I want it to be with the person I’m going to bond with.” Harry doesn’t know why it makes him feel so exposed, saying it out loud. He’s talking about doing everything else with a bunch of other people before he ever bonds. He shouldn’t be so affected at the thought of it. 

He just wants it so much, is the thing. He doesn’t have a deadline to finish off his list, but he really, really wants to get it done fast. He wants to find his bondmate soon, and the thought of having to wait makes his stomach feel hollow.

Harry’s brought back to reality by Niall’s incessant prodding. His face is all twisted up, “Really though, you want to top?”

“Don't see why I wouldn’t like it. Maybe you should try it.”

“But how are you going to find an alpha to do that with?” Niall shakes his head, eyebrows high on his forehead. “Can’t imagine any of the ones I know agreeing to that.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be an alpha, does it? None of those do, really. Could find an O or a B who’d be into it. M’sure there’s clubs for that type of thing.” Or at least there are bars for omegas looking for other omegas. Harry’s only problem would be actually getting in.

Niall seems to accept Harry’s reasoning at least, handing over the note. “What if you like it more? Then what’ll you do? Stuck with an alpha who wants ’is prick wet while you want the same thing?”

“Well I’ll know by then if I like it more. And he’ll either compromise or he’s not the alpha for me.” Harry hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. But this is the mission he’s on, now, and he has no intentions of backing down. With one success under his belt too, he’s nothing but excited. He’s not worried about it at all.

“‘S gonna be that, innit?”

It’s not that Harry believes it. Its that he needs to sell it, even for himself. He puffs his chest, the air in his lungs filling him with faux confidence. “Yeah.”

“Alright,” Niall says shaking his head. He lifts his covers up higher over his shoulders. “I’ll let you know if I think of anything to add.”

Harry squeezes the note tighter at Niall’s words. Before slipping the paper back in its rightful place, he plucks out his pen and adds Louis’ name and the date next to the first line. He bites down on his lower lip, excitement pooling in his belly.

  
+

The next morning Harry feels invigorated. He’s ready to take on the streets of Manchester, seducing blokes left right and centre. He pictures himself walking down Canal Street, winking at unsuspecting passers by and having them fawning in his wake, dying for anything he might be willing to give them.

Niall seems to notice, poking Harry with his dripping cereal spoon at breakfast. “Zoned out there, mate.” 

They spend the rest of the day lounging by Harry’s family pool. Harry avoids talking about Louis by asking Niall about Bressie, and cheerleading when Niall contemplates getting in touch with him first. 

The worst part is that Harry kind of does want to talk about it. It’s only been half a day but it already feels like a fever dream; and Niall’s easy refusal to bring it up just contributes to that. But it’s a good fever dream, he thinks. The sun beats down on them enough that Harry’s chest gets sunburned. It doesn’t even hurt that bad, the constant low level pulse in his skin reminding him of Louis, of his fingers in Harry’s hair and the way his heart beat madly. 

Next to him, Niall flips onto his belly on his sun chair, face crumpled with nerves, toes scratching his calves. Harry knows he’s made the right choice.

  
+

Harry’s trying to replace the inner tube on an old road bike in the back of the shop when the bell tinkles. He’s somewhat hidden by the racks of bikes that haven’t been picked up for the day, and he flicks his eyes to the entrance, craning his neck to get a better view. He’s not expecting anyone in particular, and still he’s startled by the sight.

“Hello?”

Harry stands up too quickly, almost toppling the bicycle from the stand. He almost drops the tire lever as he catches the bicycle, and he tries to steady it as he shouts, “In the back!”

The commotion must’ve brought them to Harry rather than his direction, because he’s no sooner spoken that Louis and two young girls are stood in front of him.

“Y’alright?” Louis asks, his eyebrows drawing closer, but his mouth tugs to the side in amusement. 

“Harry right?”

Harry nods, too startled to ask how Louis knows.

“You--” Louis starts, and stops himself. Harry’s throat closes up as he imagines Louis saying Harry looks vaguely familiar, or even worse, imagines him asking if Harry was one of the blokes he snogged at the party. He can’t quite figure out which would be worst.

“I hope you had a good time at the party,” Louis settles for, and he flexes his fingers. Right.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, and Louis must be pleased with the answer, his head dipping forward briefly before he rights himself, chin high.

“I’m glad.” Louis draws it out with a small nod of his head, and yeah, alright. Harry might be a bit fucked. He struggles to drag his eyes away from Louis’ face, wanting to acknowledge the young girls with him. 

“Are we here to get you some bicycles?” He asks, and one of the girls shakes her head.

“We’re here for the cycling classes? Mum said it started this Thursday.”

“Oh.” Harry scratches the side of his head, just as he’s doing it remembering that he’d just been messing with the bike tires. Shit. He lingers as he continues, “That was in June. On Tuesdays.”

Louis’ mouth drops open, but he still squeezes the girls’ shoulders. “Louis?” One of them asks, as they turn to him in unison. Harry can’t even tell them apart; dressed the same down to the part in their hair. They blink simultaneously. 

“Well. That’s… I suppose that’s a mistake on our part then. Nothing-- Nothing else available?”

“We only… we really only do it in June.” 

“Right.” Louis nods along at that, expression still stern. His brow is creased, and he fidgets with his fringe. As he closes his eyes, Harry can tell they’re darting to and from under his eyelids, as if he’s trying to figure out a plan B. 

Just as it looks like he’ll speak, Harry starts, “I might be able to do them I guess? ‘Ve got my free time after work. Could even do it biweekly.” There’s nothing stopping him from doing it, really. It’s not like Jeff would complain about the extra income when he doesn’t even have to do any work to set up classes or sign ups or even interact with any of the kids. 

Louis lets out a long breath, his eyebrows twitching. Harry has no idea if he’s going to protest or not. “If you’re sure,” is what he settles for, and he speaks so deliberately, the intonation practically making Harry vibrate. 

Harry nods his assent, biting down on his lips. He’s no idea what’s happening; it’s not like Louis used any alpha tricks it’s just. The intensity of his focus on Harry and the slow tone. He wanted more of it. 

“Yeah, it’s. It’s fine. Tuesdays and Thursdays?” Harry tries to keep his own tone light. 

“Should be fine, yeah. Is there-- is there anything else we need to do? ‘Ve got the old waivers, dunno if those are still valid?”

“They should be fine, yeah.”

Louis nods tightly, slinging his rucksack around to his front to dig into it and pick out the papers. Harry’s about to protest, with his fingers still filthy he doesn’t want to dirty up any official documents, but the papers Louis pulls out are in soft plastic covers. His eyes narrow as he reads them over. There’s a sticky note on top with atrocious handwriting, and Harry can see how they got June and July mixed up. 

Louis plucks off the neon paper and crumples it into his fist, tossing it back into his rucksack.

“Did you bring your bikes?” Harry asks the girls, and the nod eagerly. “And your helmets?” They nod again. Right. “I’m Harry. We’re going to start with some basic bicycle maintenance, so we’ll be in here for a bit. Are your bikes locked?”

“Yeah,” one of the girls says, and Louis taps his fingers against her shoulder. She continues, “I’m Daisy.”

The other girl introduces herself as Phoebe, and Louis grins wide offering Harry his hand. “Louis.”

It has to be a joke, but Harry’s heart shoots to his throat anyway. There’s no way he can think Harry doesn’t actually know who he is, can there? He’s bloody offended if that’s the case. “Yes, I know. I know you. I mean--”

Louis’ laughter rings clear. “Yeah, mate, no worries.” His eyes dart to the girls who seem eager to get started. Harry’s not sure how he’ll be able to tell them apart for the rest of the evening. 

“Should probably…” Louis mutters and drops his rucksack to the floor. Daisy takes off her cardigan and Phoebe puts up her hair in a ponytail. Louis hands Daisy another jacket from his bag, replacing the cardigan in there. “Easier to tell them apart now, yeah?”

Harry can only blink, slightly dazed by what just happened. “Yeah. Um. We should be done in two hours?”

“Alright. See you then.” Louis grins wide and slings his bag around his shoulder. He easily slips his other arm through the strap and Harry’s gaze drops to the sway of his hips. Louis half turns, says, “Nice to see you again.”

Harry tries to answer, but ends up swallowing wrong instead and gurgling out some sound of agreement. Well, fuck. That’s not at all how he was expecting things to work out.

  
+

Nothing happens the night that Louis picks Phoebe and Daisy back up, other than him slipping Harry an envelope with twice the fee that the shop charged for lessons. They’d left before Harry noticed, and now he isn’t sure what to do about it. 

He’s spaced out still thinking about the weight of that cash, kneeling as he tries to sort through a tub of loose brakes. 

Someone steps into his space, a drawl exclaiming, “Hello, gorgeous.”

“I-- Hello.” It startles Harry, and he struggles to get up to his feet, losing his balance. 

“No need to get up on my account,” the man says with a smirk, and his eyes seem to drag over Harry’s thighs as he shakes out his legs. 

“How can I help?” Harry rubs his palms along his thighs before shaking out his feet. The man quirks his eyebrow as he eyes Harry.

“You can keep doing that, first of all.”

Harry starts to laugh, the boldness a wildcard that he hasn’t expected. The man continues, “Had no idea they let fit young lads like you work in such inhumane environments.”

“Inhumane?” Harry can’t quite focus on the rest of what the bloke’s saying, the direct compliment skating over him uncomfortably. 

“It’s dark and dusty back here, and you’re all hidden away.” He says it with a smirk and a slight shrug of the shoulders. As if offering Harry a gift. One Harry’s not so sure he wants, at least not yet. 

“M sure you came here for something other than to rescue me,” Harry counters, rubbing his hands together. As much as he’s flattered, he would like to get to the point. 

“You wound me, Harry.” Harry freezes before remembering he’s wearing his name tag, and he shakes his head, hair falling around his face, a choked out laugh making its way out of his throat. The man continues, “Since you ask though, I was looking for a basket. The biggest, brightest, most obnoxious basket you’ve got.”

“That I can help with,” Harry nods with determination. He leads the way to the front of the shop, where the baskets are on full display. There’s no way the bloke didn’t see them when he came in, but Harry’s not about to point that out. He’s allowed to ask for personal service.

Harry would normally leave the bloke be, but he keeps asking questions about each basket, and questions Harry’s opinion and wants to know more. It’s clear as day he’s flirting, and Harry doesn’t mind the attention. He spent weeks lamenting that he couldn’t find anyone and here someone just walked into the shop with a determined gait, endless words of praise and the capability to let his eyes roam freely without reproach. It makes Harry want to puff out his chest and bask in it, a little, knowing he inspires this. 

That, and Jeff can deal with any customers that might come in while Harry’s busy bantering away. 

“Well, Harry, it’s been a pleasure dealing with you,” he says, reaching over the counter as Harry rings him up.

“Right, you’re welcome...” Harry trails off.

“Nick,” he answers, with a quirk of his mouth. As if he’s pleased that Harry finally asked. Harry slips the receipt across the counter to him, and Nick taps it. 

“D’you’ve got a pen, by chance?” Nick asks, and Harry offers him the pencil cup. He grabs a pen and scribbles something on the receipt. With a wink, he slips it back to Harry and backs towards the exit. “I’ll see y’around, yeah?”

Harry doesn’t have time to answer before the bell on the door tinkles and Nick is gone. Harry turns the receipt the right way around, and can tell a number has been scribbled on it. _Yes._ He’s finally got his mojo back. 

Even with Jeff lurking about in the office behind him, he still takes the time to pick up his phone and text Nick. Make his intent clear and put that ball back in his court. He gets a feeling of satisfaction when his text bubble appears on the phone, and he pockets it, hoping it’ll vibrate with a response soon enough. 

They manage to exchange a couple of texts by the time Harry gets off work, and he feels a sense of satisfaction knowing he’s getting things done while he walks to the pub to meet up with Niall.

Bressie’s there, too, which Harry didn’t expect, but he manages to keep his face neutral. He’ll have to pick on Niall for this later. There’s already three beers on the table, so Harry grabs the lightest one. Niall rolls his eyes, as always, taking a long pull from his foamy ale. Harry’s almost glad that Bressie’s there, keeping Niall occupied, because it means he can focus on his phone just as much as he wants. It’s not until Bressie excuses himself to go get their food that Niall confronts him about it. 

“You keep staring at your phone,” Niall barbs, and tries to nab Harry’s mobile from his hands.

Harry quickly tucks it onto his lap, leaving Niall with his hands palm up on the table, shrugging his question.

“I met a bloke at work.”

Niall’s grin spreads wide, and he practically beams with pride. “Atta, lad.”

“We just texted a bit on the walk over, but I feel like I should just ask ‘im out? Why wait around, you know?”

Niall shrugs, mouth tugging down at the corners. “Sure, I s’pose.” Harry nods and picks his phone back up, composing his text. Niall continues, “D’you need help? Proofing?”

“Ha, ha.” Harry hits send, and puts his phone face down on the table. 

He moves to top up their glasses, emptying their pitcher and his phone buzzes almost immediately, and both his and Niall’s eyes drop to it. “Well?”

**What do you have in mind? x**

“Drinks should work?” Harry asks, and Niall makes a face. “We’re out for drinks now, aren’t we? What’s wrong with that?” Harry presses.

Niall scoffs, accompanied by a snort that has a few heads turning in their direction. “Yeah, but we’re not about to get off together are we?” 

“You and Bressie might,” Harry says as he types up his text. Honestly. Niall seems to concede to that, eyebrows raising. Not even a meek protest. Harry’ll have to investigate later.

He’s barely sent off his text, not put aside his phone when it buzzes with a response. 

**Why don’t we just hop right into bed? x**

Harry’s jaw goes slack, and laughter punches out of his chest. “Wow.”

At Niall’s quizzical expression, Harry hands him the phone, and Niall nods easily. “Right, forward. That’s good innit?”

Harry’s incredulous, “No?” He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed. “No why… would this be good? He has no respect for boundaries.”

Niall shakes his head minutely. The way his eyes narrow into slits suggest he doesn’t understand what Harry’s saying at all. “I thought this is what you wanted? Or was it really just an excuse to get your mitts on Tommo?”

“Rude, and no. No, it wasn’t.”

“Are ya saying if this was Tommo texting you that you wouldn’t be on your bike in a second, racing to wherever his bed is?” Niall leans his head so far back it clunks against the wall. He watches Harry carefully as he works away on his ale. 

“I don’t even have his number,” Harry protests, and he’s quite certain he’s pouting without intending to. Niall’s wrong anyway.

“Right, _that’s_ the problem, innit?” Niall snorts.

The worst part is Niall is sort of right. Not about Louis-- after all, Louis offered to take him to his bedroom that first night and Harry turned him down perfectly well. He’s got self control. But this kind of thing is what Harry asked for. Easy hook ups with no strings. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? But this made him uncomfortable niggling at the base of his throat. Harry hadn’t realized he wanted to be the one to initiate. To get himself in control of the situation; to steer the ship. 

But just the mention of Louis texting him that… made his fingers tingle. Excitement bubbling just beneath his ribs. He was excited about catching Nick’s eye originally, yes. But he wasn’t, and isn’t, really excited for anything beyond than that. Which seems really counterproductive.

Harry’s saved from answering Niall’s leading questions when Bressie returns with their meals, dropping the hot plates of pie and mash landing heavily in front of them. Heavy food that’ll turn him sluggish, and he doesn’t even mind. 

He finishes off his beer, dour.

  
+

It’s not that Harry _hopes_ he’ll see Louis again for long enough that they can speak. But it’s just that he notices that Louis doesn’t linger. He drops his sisters off at the shop, and if Harry’s luck he catches a glimpse. On a rare occasion Louis even catches Harry’s eye, and waves at him. 

That's fine by Harry. They’re not actually friends. They just both had a good time that one night and they’re being civil now. Like actual grown ups. Harry can totally handle this because this is exactly what he was expecting. 

Although he never did expect the pinch in his gut every time he caught glimpse of Louis’ hair. 

One day, Louis comes in to pick up some batteries, but with Harry’s luck Jeff’s already stationed at the register and he tries to upsell Louis, suggesting some additional lights that supposedly have a lower battery turnover. Which isn’t true in the slightest.

Harry stays nearby enough that he listens to Louis easily talking circles around Jeff, and he has to bite down on the inside of his mouth to stop himself from cracking up.

They're still talking when Harry leaves with the girls in tow, each of them with their helmets strapped on. Harry’s hair is wild under his own helmet: the girls wanted them all to match, and he’s stuck with a slightly too small floral helmet, straps tugging under his chin. He brushes against Louis’ back inadvertently as they head out, and Louis shoots him an amused look. “Safety first,” Louis says, knocking against Phoebe’s helmet as Daisy ducks away from him.

It doesn't make Harry's heart thud harder. It doesn't.

The girls are quick studies, and although they don't really need the full six lessons, Harry isn't about to turn them away. And it has nothing to do with him wanting another hot glance from Louis, wanting to replace the impression he must have of Harry with the wild hair sticking out from under his helmet. None at all.

Having just the two of them as students gives him time to really focus on them and give them proper attention, digging into more things there’s normally no time for. Harry teaches them correct signalling and bicycle etiquette and even crafts a quiz just for the two of them. They ace it of course, and he promises them they can pick out any two bicycle or helmet stickers they want, assuming it's okay with their mum.

On the last day of their lessons, Louis comes inside the shop to grab them instead of waiting outside. Harry's not surprised since the two of them are huddled among the racks of stickers trying to decide who gets which because they don't want to be too matchy, a far cry from their identical appearance the first day Harry met them.

But instead of going up to them, Louis’ attention seems to be focused on Harry.

“I promised Dais and Pheebs that I’d take them to get ice cream when classes were over. D'you like to join us?”

Harry doesn’t have time to protest before Phoebe pleads, “Please, Harry!” 

She's got a card of graffiti stickers in her hands and Daisy isn't far behind. Her eyes are just as bright, reduced to slits as she grins exaggeratedly. 

Louis chuckles at their enthusiasm, noise twitching momentarily before rolling his lips into his mouth. On anyone else Harry would think this would mean nerves, but it can't be, can it?

“Well? What do you say?” Louis asks, a hint of teasing in his voice. 

Harry shifts his weight back on his heels. It doesn't mean anything; he's seen it himself that the girls want him to come. Still, there's a pinch just below his ribs that won't go away. “Well these are my best students. I suppose we should do something to celebrate that.”

He thinks he reads relief on Louis face: his brow softening as he tucks his hair to the side.

It causes an instantaneous physical reaction in Harry, and he has to tighten his fists around the steering rod he's holding on to.

It's not a date. It only feels like a date because they've swapped spit, because his body is craving more, because biology is a curse. It's not a date.

“I just have to--” he gestures vaguely behind himself, almost losing his grip of the bike he's holding on to. Daisy giggles at that but doesn't say anything.

“We'll wait outside.” Louis lips quirk upward after he speaks, and he seems more relaxed as he ushers the girls outside. They clutch their stickers to their chests.

Harry doesn’t watch Louis’ hips sway as he walks out, fingers itching at the memory of pressing against them. He doesn’t linger on the slope of his shoulders and the spot where his rolled up shirt sleeve ends and his bicep begins. He doesn’t remember what it felt like to have Louis’ arms around him. 

But he remembers how he felt. And he wants it again, despite himself. _Fuck._

Jeff startles then, a loud, “Huh?” filtering through the shop, which suggest Harry spoke out loud and just-- Christ. Harry has to laugh, bitterly at the mess he’s gotten himself in. He did actually think that he could handle a one time snog without getting his hormones all tangled up with want. He thought he could defy the stereotype of a clingy O.

He does his best to keep his distance when he joins Louis and his sisters back outside. He focuses on the girls, asking what their favourite part of lessons were. They try to impress Louis with their knowledge and even though Harry glances Louis’ way sparingly, he can detect the pride glinting in his eyes.

Aside from Harry’s own mushed up insides reacting to every glance Louis sends Harry’s way, the not-date doesn’t feel like a date at all. It seems a visit the ice cream parlour is a regular occurrence for the Tomlinsons as Daisy and Phoebe rush up to the display and greet the shopkeeper. 

“Have you got the lavender ice cream today?” Phoebe asks and Harry laughs incredulously.

Louis turns to him with a tilt to his mouth. “Posh, right? Don’t worry, it’s the only place they’re adventurous with their food. It’s all cheesy broccoli and fish fingers otherwise.”

“And what about you?”

“Nah, I’ll take salted caramel and chocolate any day.” Louis scoffs, watching on as the shopkeeper offers the girls different tasters. Daisy squeals after sticking a spoonful of blue ice cream in her mouth. Seems she’s picked her flavour. They’re lapping at their scooped ice cream by the time Harry’s faced with the display. 

“The regular,” Louis tells the shopkeeper and she sets to work, digging into the tubs. 

“The green tea one sounds interesting.” Harry’s eyes flick across the tubs of ice cream, intently avoiding staring at Louis as he receives his own cone of chocolate and salted caramel. 

“Mhm, yeah that one’s good,” Louis says, and from the wet smacking of his lips he must’ve started licking his ice cream. Harry stares harder at the display case. The mental image of Louis’ tongue lapping at his ice cream, mouth getting sticky and shiny with spit makes his throat go tight. He ends up pointing at the closest tub, unwilling to linger longer, and he ends up with two scoops of honey cinnamon ice cream. To his detriment, Louis seems intrigued.

“Don’t think I’ve seen that one before,” he comments as Harry grips his cone. 

“Well.” He swallows before he does something regrettable, like offering Louis a lick. That’s certainly not becoming or appropriate. The sound of coins dropping into the tip jar yanks Harry out of his thoughts, and the girls skip ahead out of the shop.

“They’re gonna make us keep up with them now,” Louis says with a wink and from the corner of Harry’s eye he spots Louis’ arm dropping. As if he were going to rest it along Harry’s back and lead him out. He takes the initiative to step ahead in front of Louis, and even though he hasn’t been touched he can feel the heat of a palm print on his back. 

Where Harry would like it to be.

It's easy for Harry to get comfortable once they're outside, nerves taking a backseat when Phoebe loops one arm into his. She and Daisy walk between him and Louis and the distance, and their sugar fueled chatter helps. 

It was their idea for Harry to come along; not Louis’. It's perfectly normal. 

They talk about their upcoming camp plans. They're not used to being home since they're at boarding school the rest of the year. “That's why they're so keen on visiting their favourite shops during summer,” Louis faux whispers with a wink. “Think yours’ll be added to the list now.”

“Oh, well,” it's all Harry can think to say, faced with Daisy and Phoebe's happy expressions. They're down to the butt off their cones and before he knows it Phoebe let's go of his arm and they sprint ahead.

Louis must've known it was coming, his own face so bright when he smiles at his sisters. They skip ahead of Harry and Louis, and as their hair flutters in the wind in the distance.

“Too cool to stick with boring grown ups for too long, they are,” Louis says with a wink, and Harry’s struck by how close he’s stood to him. It wasn’t as noticeable when there were four of them huddled together, but now their forearms are practically touching, his hairs standing on end.

“What was that thing with their matching clothes?” Harry asks, trying to keep things light. It’s something he’d been wondering, too, since neither Daisy or Phoebe seemed to take after each other, both favouring wildly different things. “The first time you came in?”

The corners of Louis’ eyes twitch, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Well,” he starts and then huffs out a laugh. “First of all we didn’t know you would be there. They just thought it’d be fun to mess with whoever the instructor would be. Having to try and tell them apart when they were dressed the same.”

Harry narrows his eyes at that. “ _They_ thought it would be fun, did they?” 

Louis’ laugh bellows out of him, strong and unexpected. He stops at the bins and tosses their napkins. “Yes, they did.”

“You had nothing to do with it?”

“No, not this time,” Louis says, eyebrows lifting momentarily. 

“This time?”

Louis tilts his head from side to side, the corners of his mouth curling as if he’s fighting back a smile. “Might’ve gotten them started on that when they were wee ones but, they’ve outdone me. Unfortunately.”

“I s’pose they learned from the best.” 

“I suppose they did.” The pride in Louis’ voice is unmistakable, and Harry’s pleased that he was involved with putting it there, even if it was simply by making an observation that had nothing to do with him. 

And then Louis does touch him, and Harry nearly flinches. Not because he doesn’t want it, but because he feels like he willed it into existence. The slight press of Louis’ fingers along the inside of his arm. 

He’s pretty sure Louis can hear the way his breath stutters.

“We’re not keeping you are we? You don’t have to stay with us. They’ve got their fill, I think.” Louis’ mouth quirks at the last part, revealing a glint of tongue pressed against his teeth. 

“No, I-- I’m good. As long as you are. Wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Harry.” Louis’ voice softens, his fingertips barely a presence against Harry’s wrist before he pulls it away. “You’re definitely not.” His eyes flick against Harry’s mouth, and then his hair, and then his eyes. It’s distracting Harry from staring at Louis’ lips, which is good, at least. He’s not sure what Louis’ doing until he brushes against a stray lock of Harry’s hair. 

Harry blinks, and in that exact moment Louis’ mouth is hot on his. Harry gasps into it, fevered and practically desperate. It’s barely been a couple of weeks since they kissed and Harry’s blood feels alive. He can feel his pulse in his face. 

Louis’ scent is prominent when they pull away. Maybe because they’re stood even closer now, and Harry’s actually leaning into Louis’ neck, seeking it out. Louis doesn’t seem to mind though, his hand back on Harry’s arm.

“Can I get your number?” Louis asks and Harry blinks.

“Could’ve gotten it through someone, pro’ly,” Harry comments, keeping his head ducked. Louis’ fingers press into his skin before he grabs his phone. 

“From the shop, maybe. From Liam, sure. Wanted it straight from you though,” Louis says. Harry easily types in his info into Louis’ phone not even bothering to act coy. 

Louis seems to be trying to tamp down his smile when he gets his phone back, and Harry wants to taste it. Wants to press his mouth against it, lick the happiness into himself.

So he does. Hands cupping Louis’ face, rubbing his cheekbones with his thumb, leading the kiss. “Just checking,” Harry says when they pull apart, and Louis licks his lips.

Of course, his plan is still in play, but there’s nothing saying he can’t still snog Louis every once in a while, if that’s on the table now. He can stick to that. It’s not like this is crossing anything else off the list.

Daisy and Phoebe are waiting for them at the end of the pier, Daisy shouting about being famished and Phoebe laying down on a bench, digging her heels into the sand. “I think they’re out of battery,” Louis whispers directly into Harry’s ear, cupped hand shielding his words from the girls. It sends Harry’s blood fizzing and he laughs a bit too loud for the joke.

The four of them up stopping at a burger shop, the late afternoon fading into evening and their ice creams long gone. 

They don’t kiss again, but Harry’s pulse remains erratic as he watches Louis tend to his sisters. He’s sat across from Harry, which just makes it all the harder not to stare. He takes twice as long as the girls to finish his chips, his only saving grace that Louis keeps getting distracted and has more food on his plate. 

If Louis notices Harry’s staring, he doesn’t let on. The times he and Harry speak though, it’s almost like an electric wire keeping his eyes glued to Harry’s. They’re laser focused, and Harry’s nerves flutter with anticipation. 

Louis asked for his number which also means he’s interested and the way he’s looking at Harry now… could easily happen again. In private. Before some snogging. Harry bites into his burger and chews intently. 

“You’re not going to finish?” Phoebe asks, grabbing a chip from Louis’ plate. 

“M’ proper fed as is,” Louis says, and pushes his plate towards the girls. He also got himself a strawberry milkshake, and he teases the straw against his teeth instead.

For the first time, he catches Harry staring. “D’you want some? Didn’t even ask.” Louis shakes his head to himself, as if this were some immense crime not to offer. He pushes the glass towards Harry before Harry can even answer. Harry’s eyes darting towards Daisy and Phoebe. Again, Louis catches him, and his smile twitches. “They’ve already had it, although I’m sure they wouldn’t turn down another taste.”

Harry wraps his hand around the glass, the chill emanating through the glass. He wants to make eye contact with Louis as he sucks the straw but he can’t bring himself to. It feels like too much. Like he’d be promising something he’s not ready to. Instead, he tries to savour the shake as he swallows, the fresh strawberry going down easy. 

“Alright, I said just a taste, didn’t I?” Louis teases and Harry ventures a glance at him. There’s no expectations, no dark hooded eyes as if he plans on ravaging Harry in the loo. It’s just Louis, with the same bright, easy smile. The front of his shoes knocking against Harry’s, an easy bit of his lip. “It’s good isn’t it?”

Harry nods, and reaches for a napkin to wipe off his mouth. There’s nothing there, he doesn’t think, but he needs the distraction. 

Louis offers to walk Harry home, but he can tell that Daisy and Phoebe are getting antsy, snapping at each other, so Harry declines. 

It’s probably for the best. If he spends too long with Louis in one go he’ll probably disintegrate. At the very least his willpower will.

+

Harry waits and waits for a text message or a phone call that same night. He even tries to ready himself for a booty call. That should be par for the course? It has to be why Louis even bothered with him. He already knows that Harry’s available, and likes him... Christ, Harry winces at how transparent he must be. Obvious enough that Louis knew a kiss would be welcome. Harry groans to himself at the reminder, but he still can’t help the fluttering in his chest at the memory, at the ghost of Louis’ mouth on his.

This is all a terrible idea.

He’s almost scared to look at his phone, and yet he doesn’t want to miss whatever text might arrive. It doesn’t come that night, but rather the next day.

**The girls want to put all their regular stickers on their bikes now its yr fault**

Harry laughs at that, a loud, brash, unexpected laugh because this is so far from what he expected. His eyebrows knot together.

“What’s that face about,” Niall asks, and when Harry looks at him his expression is a mirror of his own. Which in and of itself makes him crack up. “Summat bad again?”

Harry shakes his head, cheeks aching. “No, I guess. The opposite.”

“Yer mighty confusing, aren’t ya?”

**Thought they were gonna cry when i said the stickers wouldn’t last a week**

The conversation carries on like this, nothing scandalous, nothing inappropriate, nothing untoward. It's odd. Having spent just a handful of hours total with Louis it isn't surprising, really but. Knowing As… it sort of is. Especially one with Louis’ reputation. 

Harry tries to remind himself of that at every turn. Every time he’s tempted to check his phone for a text from Louis, everytime he does get a text from Louis and it makes his stomach clench. He has to remind himself that he’s not special. Louis could be texting five other Os for all he knows. 

It’s hard to keep that in mind when Louis invites him to a party his Alpha House is throwing that weekend. Harry half expects a mention of an exchange of services for admittance, but there’s nothing. It’s probably because they need more Os to attend, Harry tells himself. That has to be why. And Louis obviously knows that Harry’s easy for it. Eager, even, since he’s the one who initiated their first encounter.

“Busy weekend?” Harry doesn’t struggle to school his face as he asks Niall, because Niall’s not looking at him. He’s got his sunnies on and head tipped against the sun that’s blasting down on them. 

“Might have some free time, what’s up,” Niall asks, sucking on his spoon. “Up for n’ther Fif’ t’nment?”

“Louis’ Alpha House is having a party.” He says, and it leaves Harry feeling out of his depth. He hasn’t mentioned to Niall that he and Louis kissed again, but he knows that they’ve been in touch since the first party. “Apparently they like to have a one before uni starts back up to get into the swing of things.”

“A trial run, basically?” Niall asks, oblivious to the dilemma that Harry’s faced with. How is he supposed to navigate an Alpha House party with Louis lurking about? Not even just in the back of his mind, but actually physically there. Will he be watching Harry interact with others? Will he try to stop Harry from interacting with the others? Niall snaps him out of it with a casual, “Sounds like fun.”

If Niall comes Harry will have the perfect excuse to keep his distance. It’s not like he can be expected to ditch his friend--although Niall is properly capable of making his own friends at parties. No one needs to know that, really. 

Harry bites down the inside of his cheek before asking, “D’you want to come, then?” 

“Is that your half arsed way of inviting me? Because I do think you can do better.”

“Niall. Will you please do the honour of accompanying me to the Alpha House party this weekend,” Harry says, trying to sound official. Niall snorts.

“Sure you’re not asking me to babysit? Almost sounds like it.”

If Harry’s face weren’t already warm and rosy from the sun, he would flush. He shakes his head. “Why’s it so bad to want company?”

“Mnot sure quite what the problem is.” Niall takes the time to pause the game, leaning back on the sofa. “It's an Alpha House, yeah? There's gonna lots of knotheads there for you to make friends with.”

“I thought you didn’t trust my judgment?” Harry asks, and from the way Niall sucks in his cheeks, he knows he’s got him. Still, he can’t help but widen his eyes and blink innocently, adding, “You’re just gonna leave me with all those knotheads to take advantage of me.”

“Alright, now you lost me. Take advantage,” Niall says with a snort. “You could just ask nicely you know, instead of trying to trick me into coming.”

“Niall. Will you please come to this party with me?”

“It would be an honour to chaperone you, young Harry,” Niall says solemnly. He even tugs down his sunglasses to stare into Harry’s eyes.

Harry can only roll them, laughter itching at his nose. “You’re only a few months older than me.”

“And that makes all the difference.” Niall cheers at him with his bottle of Fanta.

  
+

Niall does not accompany Harry to the party as he promised.

At first he says he’ll meet up with Harry at his place. Harry’s halfway ready when a second text rolls in from Niall, suggesting that they meet at the party instead. 

Harry assumes, wrongly, that Niall means they’ll meet outside walk in together but he’s been lingering in the porch for much longer than is acceptable and really-- he needs to either go or knock on the door. 

At this point he can only assume that Niall decided to trick him into going to the party and make it so Harry had no safety blanket. That he’d be forced to socialize without a safety net; sink or swim. Which, Harry can totally do on his own anyway and didn’t need Niall’s meddling. He just doesn’t like being cancelled on, no matter the underlying reason. 

But at this point he’s gotten dressed up, his hair falling just right around his face, which may have taken him a good chunk of time to get in order, and he picked the perfect cologne to mask his scent just enough that he doesn’t have to worry about others smelling his nerves on him.

At least he’s early, which means he’ll be able to be introduced to some people personally and he can suss out some prospects before things get awfully rowdy.

He rings the doorbell, and Louis does not open the door. 

Instead, Harry’s met with a tall bloke with black hair and a lazy smile. 

“Hey, you’re the first one here. Come on in,” he says with a tip of his head, making way for Harry to step inside.

“Louis invited me,” Harry specifies, not that the bloke asked. There’s a twinge of something that feels like disappointment in the middle of his chest. Harry can’t quite place it. Just because Louis didn’t open the door but-- this was never a date. Harry doesn’t _want_ it to be a date. He wants to meet other people that he can hook up with.

“Oh! Harry, yeah?” The bloke asks and Harry nods. Louis must not have invited too many people if he knows them by name. The twinge comes back, but different, his hand itching to form a fist.

“‘M Luke,” he says and offers his hand officially. Harry’s pretty sure he squeezes Luke’s had too forcefully from the look he gets. It’s not bad, just a slight twitch of eyebrows on Luke’s part. “I think he’s still getting his hair in order.” The door shuts behind them and Luke leads the way, leaving Harry trailing behind him. “D’you want a tour of the place?”

“Oi! Trying to steal my guests are you?” Louis’ voice slices through the air before Harry has a chance to answer. 

Harry’s gaze travels towards the place where Louis’ voice comes from. There’s a staircase and at the top of the stairs, that’s where Louis stands. He leans over the bannister, arms flexed and shoulders hunched as he looks over them. He winks at Harry when they make eye contact, and quickly pulls away, bounding down the stairs.

Luke calls out, “Just asked if he wanted a tour, didn’t think you were done yet.”

“Proper rude that, I don’t show your guests around.”

“Doing him a favour, you know my tours are better.”

Harry’s eyebrows are drawn tight, he half expect Louis to go off but his eyes open wide with a couple of blinks before he bursts into laughter. Bending down easily and biting his lip. 

“‘Lright Haz, let’s get this show on the road,” Louis says when he straightens up, cocking his head to the far corner of the room. He waits for Harry to catch up to him before guiding him towards the door.

“I won best tour giver last year, Luke has nothing on me.” Louis says with a wink as he lifts himself up onto a counter. Harry’s eyes are drawn to his arms, the flex of his bicep below his folded up sleeves.

Harry must be distracted, because he says, “I didn’t think you lived here last year?” Harry’s heart shoots to his throat but Louis doesn’t seem to catch on. That Harry just casually dropped knowing where Louis lived last year.

“And still, I won.” He beams at Harry, fingers tapping against the linoleum. “Right! So this is the kitchen. The taps over there are beer taps” -- Louis nods across the room, where four brass taps topped with blank chalkboards. Harry remembers the size of them and the colour precisely. 

Mostly because it’s the last thing he really pays attention to in the house. 

Of course, he listens to Louis, couldn’t stop listening to Louis’ easy lilting voice, the rasp pleasant in his ears. But while he scans each of the rooms Louis brings him into, Harry can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Louis’ face. Not since he locked eyes with him in the kitchen. He’s magnetized and he doesn’t even care.

People start to arrive when Louis is showing him the back garden, pulling at string lights that have seen better days, but even with their foggy scratched surface, the light they emit illuminate the peaks and valleys of Louis’ face perfectly.

It’s not that Louis tries to keep Harry to himself-- which is part of the problem. He introduces Harry to everyone he knows. And even then, Harry watches as others are pulled to Louis, circling his orbit, hanging onto his every word. 

“Having a good time?” The question pierces Harry’s concentration, and he turns with blink to face Luke.

“Yeah, ‘m great. Louis’ has been introducing me to people.” Somehow, Harry’s trudged away from the group he was standing it. It’s not a direct move. The only reason he notices, really, is because he can’t quite keep the same eye on Louis anymore. He’s talking to one of the girls who lives in the house, and Harry has to turn to see his full profile. 

“You’re not obligated to hang out with him, you know,” Luke says, and Harry frowns in confusion. He specifies, “Just because he invited you, I mean.”

“I know.” Harry’s still confused. It’s not like Louis was forcing Harry along he was just… including him. And Harry wanted to be. He didn’t even care to talk to Luke who was, by all means, fit all on his own. It’s a bit disconcerting, now that he thinks about it. Harry should want to speak with him. But he doesn’t.

“Well, you know where to find me if you get bored.” Luke’s smile slants sideways, revealing a dimple. Huh. It’s like, objectively Harry knows he should be charmed. He can see the appeal. But he’s just not interested. 

Harry clearly hasn’t gotten Louis out of his system properly yet. Sure, okay, they’d kissed twice now and that wasn’t enough but maybe-- he licks his lips --maybe third time’s the charm?

As soon as the thought enters his head it’s what he wants. He steps his way back into the throng of people, but this time sidles up much closer to Louis. He glances Harry’s way before continuing to speak to the girl. His hand skids along Harry’s back, settling on his shoulder. The way that roots Harry to the ground and makes his belly want to float out of his body at the same time is indication enough that Harry’s right. He needs to get Louis out of his system, is all.

When there’s a lull in the conversation, Louis squeezes Harry’s shoulder and turns into him. “What’s up?” 

“You haven’t shown me your room,” Harry tries to whisper as he pulls at Louis’ elbow. Louis almost falls into Harry, and he thinks he can see a fleeting smile before Louis’ head turns away. 

His hands are steady around Harry’s hips as he guides him towards the stairs, and up to his room. It doesn’t look special. In fact, it barely looks lived in, but it’s a space and it’s theirs for now, and Harry needs to taste Louis again. Harry practically pushes him against the door, which makes Louis laugh before Harry plants his mouth on Louis’. 

There’s a startled yelp from Louis’ end that Harry swallows easily. He still pushes back, and the slide of their tongues is wet and heady and Harry has to collect himself before he goes too far, closing his eyes and sucking air into his lungs.

“What do you want Harry?” 

Harry whimpers at that, pushing harder into Louis. He can’t pause to speak now, he wants to just keep sucking at Louis’ mouth, wants his tongue to slip inside and be obscured into his scent. Wants to lose his breath, and yes, wants Louis’ hands to continue digging into the small of his back, fingers hesitantly, pressing against the top of his arse. 

“You want me to touch you?” Louis asks, and it’s the first thing that makes Harry sit up and take notice. He feels at ease with Louis’ hands gripping his hips but he also knows-- he knows what that leads to. And that’s not what he wants. He shakes his head, meeting Louis’ gaze. There’s concern there, and Louis’ torso twists against the wall as he tries to get away from Harry.

“No I-- don’t want to stop this. Just not...not that.” And it’s not even conscious, the way that Harry’s palm smooths out over Louis’ chest. If he spreads his fingers he almost covers the print on his shirt. Louis’ chest is heaving below his touch, in concert with his strained breathing.

“Then…” Louis starts, fixing to circle Harry’s wrist. It could be to pull him closer or push him away, the touch easily going either way. He doesn’t do anything, thumb lingering over Harry’s pulse point. It’s cheating, is what that is. Harry pulls his wrist away, not wanting his own heartbeat giving him away. Louis lets him go easily. He continues, “We don’t have to do anything, Haz, if you just. Just wanted me to show you my room, here it is. Just another room in the house.”

“No I--” Harry tries to think, he really does, but it’s so difficult when he’s got Louis standing in front of him looking like that. With his lips parted, coloured red. His hand making fist around Harry’s on Louis’ chest. He could just watch Louis touch himself and probably be completely be gone within seconds. 

Louis’ thumbs at the spot between his thumb and forefinger, and his eyes look inquisitive. His forehead knocks against Harry’s, jolting him into action. Harry says, “You can-- you can touch yourself?”

“Yeah?” Louis puff of breath is sudden against Harry’s mouth. He makes Harry want to melt into it, let him breathe all over him until he's’ covered in a cloud of Louis’ scent. He nods quickly to avoid giving any of that away. 

Harry ends up being backed towards the bed, the front of Louis’ thighs and hips guiding them along. Louis taps Harry’s hip to let him know to sit down, and he slumps next to him.

He doesn’t take his eyes off Harry’s face, gaze flicking from one eye to the other, a line drawn between his eyebrows.

Harry, Harry on the other hand makes himself comfortable, stretching out. He’s already leaking, and hard as nothing else. But he wants to watch for now. Watches the way Louis’ fingers undo his flies and shimmy his trousers down his legs. He reveals thick thighs that Harry would die to rub off against, and they look strong enough for Harry to bounce off of-- Fuck. Harry bites down on his lip with a choked whimper. 

When Louis finally takes himself in hand, he’s near enough that the back of Harry’s hand nudges him as he pulls. It makes Harry shiver all the more. He’s probably soaked through onto his jeans, but it’s not even that, it’s also watching Louis like this but also-- the shivers he gets every time his skin touches Louis’ hot skin.

“You know,” Louis starts before gathering himself. His strokes are firm, and he keeps twisting his fist around his knot at the base of his cock. He grits out, “You can touch yourself too, if you want.”

Louis hasn’t even finished speaking before Harry pushes his own hand into his pants. It’s tight, with only the top button undone, he’s hot and sticky inside the fabric, doing his best to provide some pressure against his cock. The slide of skin on skin is deliciously rough, and made all the better from Louis’ sharply measured breaths as he watches the movement of Harry’s hand.

Louis’ mouth keeps twisting as he strips his cock, his knot swollen and red, still firm at the base. Louis ends up wrapping his fingers around himself and crying out, face distorting.

Harry can’t look away, eyes glued to Louis even as he comes with a startled groan. Spilling all over himself, spilling over onto the hem of Harry’s shirt.

Harry’s wide eyed and chokes off a gasp, he can’t even get worked up about it. He drags his eyes up to Louis’ face, completely slack. As he opens his eyes his lips quirk after making eye contact with Harry. “Hey,” Louis says when he catches his breath.

From the way Louis’ eyes dart over Harry’s face, the weight of his gaze on his lips, he can tell Louis wants to touch him. That he's holding back. Harry works his hand faster inside his jeans. Hot and sticky and uncomfortable, his wrist nearly cramping, the rough fabric of his jeans harsh against his skin.

He must look an absolute mess. He feels it. His clothes ruined. Stinking up Louis’ room with his slick. He should probably stop; it’s probably embarrassing for Louis to watch this right now, for him to be stuck with a whimpering omega who won’t even touch him-- 

“You’re doing so well,” Louis mumbles, fingers picking at stray curls around Harry’s forehead. He blinks at that, eyelids heavy. His words are like a balm, smooth against his sweaty skin. It’s okay. “So bloody fit,” Louis continues with a lick of his lips. Harry’s breath catches at that, unable to comprehend it. It makes him feel hot all over, the skin of his chest prickling with approval but-- it can’t be. There’s sweat gathering around his temple and making his eyelashes stick together. His shirt’s ruined. He’s got his hand down his jeans and is writhing around without really knowing what he’s doing. How can Louis look at him like that? 

He can’t think about it, keeps stroking himself as best as he can. He thinks about all the things he wants from Louis that he can’t have instead. Would have loved to feel Louis’ hands on him. Feel the dig of his fingers around his hips as he pushed him into bed. The heat of his palm along Harry’s cock, Louis’ mouth on his belly, tongue in his navel, even-- maybe even lower, licking along the inside of Harry’s thighs. 

Harry gasps at that thought, dick twitching under his touch. He can’t have that, though, but what he can have is Louis’ mouth on his. He keeps stroking himself as he tips his chin up, an invitation for another kiss, and Louis complies easily. Louis cups Harry’s jaw as he kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth, and then sucks at his lower lip. 

Harry’s body feels both hot and cold at once, and he squeezes his thighs together best he can.

“How’s it feel?” Louis asks between kisses, his nose rubbing against Harry’s before he catches Harry’s lips again. 

Harry’s swallowed whimpers must be answer enough because Louis looks at him reverently. “Look so good,” Louis says, swiping his thumb along the top of Harry’s cheekbone. That’s how Harry comes; with Louis intently staring him in the eye, mumbling about how fit and lovely and perfect Harry looks. Harry can’t look away, as much as he’s flushed with embarrassment and excitement. 

Louis has to pull his hand out of Harry’s trousers, and he rolls away to grab a box of tissues. He wipes Harry down in silence, doing his best to scrub off the come from Harry’s shirt. 

Harry only has half a beer in him straight from one of the taps and still he feels like he’s about to float off of the bed. His lips carve out a lazy smile, matching the one on Louis’ face and he laughs weakly, not for lack of want, but because he’s gone gelatinous. Louis collapses next to him, half dressed, his nose pressed into Harry’s shoulder. 

“Thank you,” Louis mumbles, and it makes Harry frown. He’s not sure how to feel about Louis acting like Harry did him a favour somehow, when Harry’s the one who’s a mess. He’s the one who couldn’t keep himself together for one night, caving in and pushing for more, practically leading Louis on. 

Harry almost rolls off the bed when his phone buzzes in his jean pocket.

His shock seems to spur Louis into action. He straightens up, wiping his hand over his face. He’s off the bed and pulling his trousers back up. He takes off his shirt, using it to wipe himself down hastily. Harry has to drag his eyes from Louis, poking at his phone. There’s two missed calls and a text, all from Niall.

“Shit,” he mutters. 

“What's wrong?” Louis asks, picking at a shirt over a chair. 

“Niall-- my friend, he’s here.”

“Oh?” Louis’ back is to Harry as he puts on a new shirt. One that isn’t stained with sweat and come and Harry’s smell, no doubt. “D’you want me to go get ‘im? Give you some time to like”--he waves his hand about before messing with his hair and doesn’t continue.

“No, I should just. I can take care of it. He’s probably worried.” Or he’s making friends and putting two and two together, with Harry and Louis both being absent… Shit.

“D’you want to borrow a shirt or summat?” Louis asks just before Harry leaves the room. He’d like to, he feels a mess. But it’d probably be just as good as being marked, that. Wearing Louis’ clothes. He shakes his head.

“There’s neutralizers in the house, yeah?” Harry asks, and Louis nods, eyebrows still tightly furrowed. “M’good. Pro’ly just need a moment in the loo to like. Wipe myself down.”

“Okay.” Louis seems unconvinced. “If you change your mind… just. You can let yourself in and grab something, yeah? M’not too precious ‘bout any of my shirts.”

“Thanks,” Harry says in understanding. He still feels dazed, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He can’t decide what he wants to do as he looks for Niall.

He’s already making friends, it seems, slotted into a group of people and with a beer that’s nearly empty. Harry's so dazed when he sees him he doesn't think to ask how long he'd been there.

“H! Almost thought you didn’t make it and I’d be all by my lonesome. These lovely folks took me under their wing, though,” Niall exclaims, gesturing to the group of people he’s with with his beer. 

“Thought you ditched me.” 

“Yeah, sorry about that. Was hanging with Bressie took a bit longer than expected.” Niall ducks his head as he speaks.

“You had a date?”

“You’re not the only one capable of getting some, you know?” Niall points out, pressing his cup against Harry’s chest. It makes Harry’s chest burn, as if Niall can tell what Harry’s been up to. It’s impossible, he knows. There’s neutralizers all over the house and any flush on his skin can be blamed on alcohol. Still, Niall winks at him knowingly and Harry doesn’t know if he wants to run away or argue with him. Niall sweeps the dregs of his drink easily, declares, “I need a refill.”

As Harry ushers Niall through to the kitchen, he becomes aware that Louis’ has come downstairs and rejoined the party. He’s just a blur in the corner of Harry’s eye and yet it puts him in high alert. He licks his lips once, twice, before he fills himself a cup of beer and downs half in one go. 

He’s not sure what he wants, is the thing. Does he want Louis to come find him and Niall and spend the rest of the party with them? Or does he want to be left alone? 

Harry tries to keep his eyes trained on Niall, and he offers to take him on the same tour that Louis gave him earlier. He might not have paid much attention, but he can still replicate it somewhat. 

He almost feels marked. He's sure he reeks of it, of slick and desperation and the heady scent Louis covered him with every breath. That Harry _wanted_ to be covered with. He shivers at the thought, and thanks his stars for the scent neutralizers that were plugged into the walls. 

Louis doesn't overstep at all the rest of the evening, but still. Harry has a hard time not letting his mind wander as he speaks with other As that he should consider for a date and maybe more. 

This doesn’t count. This wasn’t on the list, wanking together. He got to watch Louis fall apart without breaking any of his own rules. He should be happy about that, and still all he wants is for more attention. 

When they leave he only gives Louis a wave, and it feels like his chest is being cracked open. He's not sure if it's with relief at the ease that Louis can step away from him and watch him go, or if it's ache, for the very same reason. He would like Louis’ calming touch as a goodbye, maybe even a whispered farewell. 

He’s had a lot to drink, and he makes Niall wait with him just outside the door in case Louis would follow, in case he felt compelled to actually say goodbye to Harry, with a hug or even just-- Anything.

Of course, he doesn’t come. Harry asks Niall questions about his date to distract himself from the heavy feeling of defeat in his chest. It’s for the best; this is what he wanted. No strings attached, so Harry can move on to his next target. That’s all Louis was to Harry, after all, so it shouldn’t matter if that’s all Harry was to him.

It’s better this way, actually, without Louis pretending to care. He gulps down air as they walk, telling himself that the squirming feeling in his gut is all because he had too much to drink.

  
+

Out of habit, Harry checks his phone before slipping into bed, and he almost drops it, fingers trembling, when he sees Louis texted him. 

**Goodnight xx**

And that's it, that's him weak in the knees and the rest of him quivering as he collapses onto his bed. How can a single word do that to him? A single written word. How can he feel as if Louis has touched him from far away? A gentle press of his fingers against Harry's scalp that just slip down the base of his skull, nipping at the back of his neck.

He's not as overcome with the good morning text he receives, or the second good night one. He's fine. But he also knows he's absolutely humming with the need to see Louis again.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry doesn’t have to wait long to hear from Louis again; and they quickly fall into a never ending text conversation punctuated only by goodnight texts, which Harry’s grateful for, because it means he doesn’t have to stay up late wondering why Louis hasn’t answered his latest text. Why it would make him stay up late, Harry doesn’t want to think about. 

Louis mostly texts about his day, about what his sisters get up to when he’s babysitting them. He asks Harry about his day and Harry talks about work and about moving into student housing for his second year, finally having saved up enough money that he and Niall can live together. It leads to Louis offering Harry to help stock up on housewares. 

“You want to spring for good bedding, believe me,” Louis says when he stops by the shop one day to whisk Harry off to look for supplies. 

Well. There’s no whisking involved, really. Just one mate helping out another to pick out sheets with good thread counts and the right duvets and pillows. There’s nothing more to it. Harry knows because Louis talks about how Luke told him the same when he moved into the Alpha House. It’s just him lending a helping hand. 

That’s what he says, at least, but their excursion mostly involves him scoffing at the prices at Dreams. He drops a packet of linens forcefully, only eliciting a soft thud from them. “Daylight robbery, this is.”

“You’re the one who said to invest,” Harry rebuffs, and Louis nods along solemnly. 

“Hmm, yes, but. There’s a thin line between being a fool and being clever. We’ve got to stay on the right side.”

“I think there’s a Marks and Spencer nearby,” Harry says, flicking at lavender linens. 

“Harold. What did I just say. We’re trying to be clever, not fools.”

Harry shrugs easily. “My mum said she could cover some stuff, can always ask her to pay for bedding? I don’t really think I need much else. I don’t need a telly or anything, Niall’s bringing his.”

Louis’ face is split by a wide smile. “Well, that changes everything. Let’s pick out the cream of the crop.”

They end up drafting a wishlist that Harry can bring home to his mum, with lots of varied prices, some completely outrageous because, “The higher the highest price is the more reasonable those middle ones will seem, trust me on this,” Louis says with conviction. Apparently a trick he’s learned from his time as a server. “If there’s one outrageously priced meal people have less qualms ordering the other overpriced stuff, it works,” he says, and Harry should feel bad about using these kinds of tricks on his mum, but mostly he’s curious to see if it actually works. 

They spend all day together, and Louis doesn’t even make a move which is fine, really.  
It’s right in line with what Harry wants. So when Louis suggests that Harry come over to hang the next day he doesn’t think twice about it. They can clearly pull off being friends, and he _likes_ spending time with Louis. Nevermind that he finds himself having to look away from him. Getting stuck with wide eyes waiting for whatever Louis might say next.

Harry can only hope that Louis doesn’t notice how he hangs on his every word, how easy and loud his laughter comes. 

“We can supervise the garden work, and get sun,” Louis suggests, because apparently Jimmy and Luke need to be supervised. “They need to an audience to do a good job,” Louis says, and of course, Harry wants to help.

Harry has to work in the morning, and he spends most of the day stuck inside changing brakes and inner tubes, listening to Jeff whine about how he wants to find an O that’ll go out with him now that his A girlfriend left. He wants someone delicate, someone who’ll listen to him and take care of him, not expect him to do all that stuff, he says, as he watches Harry almost brain himself as he tries to adjust a saddle. He falls backwards on his arse with the force he uses to pull at the seat post and it dislodges suddenly.

Harry can’t quite tell if Jeff’s comments are intentional jabs, as if having Harry around reminds him of everything an O shouldn’t be, but he grits his way through it as oil gathers under his nails. It’s not pretty and he spends ages scrubbing himself down before leaving the shop, but there’s still a dark line around his cuticle he just can't get rid of. It’s not like it’ll matter to Louis. 

A downpour starts right as Harry set off to bike over to Louis’ and he almost texts Louis to see if they’re still on, but he doesn’t want to risk getting turned away. Instead he covers himself in his blue rain jacket, carefully buckling his helmet over the hood. 

“Oh, hey,” Louis lights up when he arrives, and Harry can’t deny that it does something to his insides. He’s half soaked, legs and trainers covered in grime and splashed up mud. His grimy nails are the least of his concerns. 

“Surprise?” Harry offers, shrugging as he steps into the lobby. The house is quiet, and he wonders where everyone is. If the garden work was called off because of the weather, they’d still be there.

“All wrapped up like one, y’are,” Louis says with an easy laugh as Harry takes off his rain jacket and hangs it up carefully, trying not to get all the other coats wet. 

Louis has a pizza ready for them, along with a large bottle of Pepsi. “‘M glad I don’t have to finish all this by meself, wasn’t sure if you’d still show up,” Louis comments as he takes out a pair of oversized joggers for Harry to lend. Probably because he doesn’t want Harry to soak through their furniture; no other reason. 

Harry borrows their loo to rinse off his legs, probably spending too long burrowing his face in the borrowed towel before drying himself off. Louis has left a pair of fuzzy socks for him, and he’s waiting in bed, his laptop perched on his lap. He’s dressed just as cozily, drowning in a sweater that covers his hands, his hair mess as he rolls a joint. The pizza carton next to him, a torn up slice on top. 

It’s easy and familiar, and it warms something in Harry’s belly, climbing into bed with Louis like this. He tries not to get too close, but Louis stares at him like he’s being weird, and that’s all Harry needs before he presses against Louis’ side, the heat of him making him feel all the more at home. He grabs a slice as he watches Louis’ fingers work, jaw going stiff with how hard he’s chewing.

They end up watching a mix of Mighty Boosh episodes and sharing the spliff. Harry nervously pinching it between his fingers and sucking at the filter, holding his breath as he can as the smoke burns his throat and nose and mouth. 

Louis doesn’t comment as he takes it from him, gracefully taking a pull of his own. Harry blinks and he can’t tell whether his fascination with Louis’ eyelashes, the slope of his nose and the curve of his mouth is due to the grass or just _Louis_. The way he sighs quietly when Harry snuggles in closer, lips slightly parted. And the way his mouth pulls when he laughs at something in the show. Harry’s own mouth tugs at the sound.

Louis abruptly switches his focus onto Harry, his eyes slits as he leans into him. 

“You’re made out of candyfloss,” Louis says, before bursting into giggles. He’s holding onto the spliff precariously and Harry’s whole face scrunches up. He’s not sure whether he should be offended or not. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

Louis nods at the telly, where Vince and Howard are discussing which of them is darker. “‘F we were gonna go on a double date with goths like ‘em. I’d be the darkest one. You’re the candyfloss one.”

Harry frowns at that. It’s not true. Is it? He wants to protest but he can’t really think of counterarguments. Instead his mind starts to spin around Louis’ claim. “Wouldn’t go on a date with a goth, I don’t think.”

“Oh, you’re goth-ist are you?”

“Dunno any.” Harry’s frown deepens. He tries to think about it. No, there’s no one, he’s probably only seen a handful in the school playground at sixth form and in telly. And Robert Smith, he’s goth-y, right? He can’t tell if he’d like the look or not. Vince on the show has smudged eyeshadow all round his face, a studded collar and red, red lips. Louis might look good a bit goth, though, with dark eyeliner smudged under his eyes. He leans in and fingers irrevocably drawn towards Louis’ face.

Louis twists under him, laughs as he protests, “You trying to poke me eye out?”

Harry’s mouth pulls into a wide smile. He shakes his head, trying to pin Louis down again. “I think it might suit you,” Harry says, his finger trailing along Louis’ cupid's bow. He’s not fighting the touch, his mouth stretching just the tiniest bit, and Harry’s finger tracing the taut curve. All the way down to his bottom lip. He thumbs it with the pad of his finger, blinking lazily. Louis has the softest, prettiest lips. Taste so good too, Harry thinks with a sated smile.

He drops his hand when he feels Louis pull at his wrist. Oh. He didn’t mean to touch Louis like that it just-- happened. Louis doesn’t seem upset though, his pearly teeth glistening between his lips. His tongue poking out the tiniest bit.

What Harry wouldn’t do to suck at that tongue... 

“So you’d go out with me if I was a goth, I reckon,” Louis’ voice comes out slower and Harry blinks at it happily. Harry watches as Louis sucks at the spliff before setting aside and oh, yeah. Maybe that’s why his chest feels lighter, as if expanding greatly with each pull of air.

“Mmm, maybe,” Harry thinks he says, he’s not sure, not from the way Louis tilts his head, inviting a kiss. 

He tastes like smoke, the plumes of it snaking into his mouth and his throat and he swallows it hungrily, he doesn’t want anything more than that for now, just the feel of Louis’ heart thumping beneath his palms. Solidly there under Harry as he shifts over him. 

They exchange a few more puffs of the spliff, each punctuated by another heated kiss, Harry feeling himself melt more and more into the spot. Howard and Vince are still arguing shrilly on the telly, the thread of their voices making for an ambient soundtrack to his and Louis’ soft grinding. 

Because that’s really all that’s going on. Harry has to admit to easily slipping his leg over one of Louis as he felt heavier on him. Louis is encouraging enough, nails dragging along his back. A gentle rub at each knot of his spine following in the wake of the sharp drag.

“H, Hazza,” Louis mumbles, almost as sleepily as Harry feels. 

“Mhm?” Harry tries to make it clear it’s a question, but he also just wants to rub his face against Louis’ neck. Nose burrowing just below the collar of his shirt where it dips low. The skin so supple and fresh and made for Harry to nose along.

“Harry-- ‘re you sure you’re alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry says on an inhale. “Just wanna keep touching you.” He stills for a second, pulling back and looking Louis in the eyes, “S’that alright?” Maybe it isn’t. He hasn’t even thought to ask, just accosting Louis out of nowhere.

“Yeah, petal”-- Louis licks his lip, tongue shiny as his top teeth bite into it. “I want whatever you’re up for, anytime.” He punctuates it with a kiss square on Harry’s forehead. Somehow, just that little action, makes Harry arch into Louis even more. His dick hard against Louis’ thigh. Shit.

“Mm’kay.” 

“D’you wanna to just watch again?” Louis asks, fingers skittering over Harry’s skin. He’s so warm, and being pressed into Louis makes him feel warmer but he doesn’t mind that. Wouldn’t mind being closer still.

“No,” Harry answers, and he doesn’t mean to, but he ends up rubbing against Louis. There’s no way he can’t feel how hard Harry is but it honestly, really, truly was an accident. He wanted to be level with Louis’ face, to press their lips together again and he had to hike himself up for that. 

Louis doesn’t seem to mind, pushing his thigh harder against Harry. His legs fall open a bit more at that and _oh_ right at his hip he can feel Louis’ excitement as well. Cock swollen and hot, even through the fabric of their joggers.

He blinks at Louis hazily, keeping their gazes locked as he slips his hand lower, onto his chest, and then to his belly. He pauses as he fingers along the hem of Louis’ joggers. Waiting for the slightest hint of hesitation. But Louis’ gaze is steady, hungry almost. He blinks, his eyelashes fanning dark as he does. 

Harry inhales sharply before pushing his hand down and taking Louis’ cock in hand. Louis goes tense below him, abs constricting and jaw jutting out. “Harry.” 

“Is this okay?” Harry asks, his bold moves underlined with a tentative tone. 

“Yeah, yeah more than,” Louis answers almost with a laugh. But in the end he grasps Harry’s face and kisses him sweetly. So sweetly Harry doesn’t hesitate to start pumping Louis’ cock to get a bit more aggression from him. 

It works, with each squeeze at the base Louis gasps into Harry’s mouth. He sucks at his lower lip when Harry gets in a proper pull, slipping his thumb along the slit of Louis’ cock. 

It’s so familiar, yet different at the same time. It’s another angle than he uses on himself, and Louis’ weight and shape is different, obviously, the skin scorching as he moves his palm. He almost feels bad that he doesn’t get to watch as Louis starts working his hips, fucking into his fist.

But if he did, he’d probably want to taste too, just the thought of slipping his tongue along the vein at the base where he thumbs now. Sucking at the crown and tonguing Louis’ slit while he continued to squeeze at the base of his knot, keeping it in place.

Fuck, Harry whimpers into Louis’ mouth.

“Wait, wait,” Louis mutters as he pulls away. He stills Harry’s hand with his own, his fingers trembling as they pull at Harry’s. “Want you to come first. Please?”

Harry blinks at that, almost unable to respond. He’s hard, possibly harder than he’s ever been, and now that he’s got a moment to think he can feel his arse leaking. Yet he wasn’t thinking about it at all as he worked on Louis, letting the feeling of his own arousal flow into him.

Just this moment of being apart makes him feel how he’s throbbing all over, and if Louis wants to help with that… “Yeah, okay.”

Louis almost doesn’t seem to expect it, blinking and biting down on his jaw. “I can--” He rolls his mouth tongue swiping over his top lip. “I can touch you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and without being able to help himself, adds, “Please.”

Louis’ breath comes out in stutters after that, his swallows audible as he he shifts and pushes for Harry to lay back. He presses a gentle kiss against Harry’s open mouth before pulling at the drawstrings of Harry’s joggers.

He’s so close… just… Harry bucks up into it and that must be what Louis was waiting for because his mouth pulls to the side. He deftly pulls at the joggers and Harry raises his hips to allow them to get lower.

Louis’ mouth hangs open as he strokes the hollow above his hip, slowly working his way to Harry’s cock. He wraps his fist around it gently and Harry bites back a groan before he sees Louis’ frown.

“Hey,” Louis says, thumbing at Harry’s mouth. “None of that, wanna know, yeah? If it’s good or bad or anything, don’t. Don’t keep quiet. I don’t want you to be quiet, if that’s what you think.”

Harry exhales shakily at that, catching Louis’ thumb in his mouth with a quick suck. He nods though, and Louis tips his chin up with his spit slick thumb.

“Can you say it?”

“Feels good.” It’s almost a sigh, how soft it comes out, but it must be enough because Louis’ hand starts moving again. 

“You’re so hard, s’it just for me?” He gathers Harry’s precome and uses it to ease the slide for his fist. 

“Yeah-- Jus’-- Just you.” Harry flushes at that, at how true that is even now. But Louis doesn’t seem to react to it, even though Harry feels like he’s just offered Louis a look inside his chest. 

“Yeah, same,” he mutters in response as he watches his fist work over Harry, slick sounds accompanying each pull. 

The comment teeters at the edge of Harry’s consciousness. He can’t focus too much on it though, nerves sizzling as he tries to figure out whether to stay still or buck into Louis’ touch. 

Harry just feels so good, it’s on the edge of too much. He’s amazed that he’s lasted so long, woulda thunk as soon as Louis wrapped his fingers around him he’d be gone. It has to be the weed, fuzzing the corners of his brain in a pleasant way. He stares at the way Louis’ face is pinched in concentration, his brow furrowed. All just for him. 

It’s too much to process.

“Lou, can you,” he starts and Louis’ attention shifts to him immediately, eyes alert. Harry puckers his lips, hoping it’s hint enough, and luckily it is; Louis bending down to press his mouth against Harry’s.

He asked for it, but he still gasps at the contact, straining his neck for more. He sucks at Louis’ lower lip, teeth grazing the tender skin. He never wants it to stop, really and just like that-- just when Louis pushes back down against him, pushes hard enough that their teeth clash against each other-- that’s when the pull in Harry’s groin becomes too much. His arse clenches, his belly tensing and he just-- comes. His entire body goes soft, mouth slack as Louis continues to work him over.

Harry hisses, oversensitive, and Louis lets go of his cock. He blinks at him, ethereal with a flush high on his cheeks, eyes shining. His throat bobs as he swallows. 

Louis doesn’t speak as he starts stroking himself again. He’s still straddling Harry’s thigh and Harry just watches him wide eyed. 

And he can’t help it. Can’t help being so close, and not touching, so that’s what he does; fingers hesitant as he wraps his hand around Louis’ fist. 

“Harry-- Are you?” Louis asks, cutting himself off with a grunt. “Fuck.” He starts to move his hand faster; too fast for Harry to keep up but he’s still there, fingers grazing Louis’ knuckles as his face contorts and he spurts all over his fist.

Harry doesn’t even think before bringing his hand up to his face, tongue poking out of his mouth as he licks the come off his hands. 

“You’re bloody unreal, y’are.” Louis is out of breath, collapsed on top of Harry and still he cups his face and kisses him sweetly. All of Harry’s hot and slippery, wet between his legs, and covered in his own come and Louis’ come and sweat and spit. He’s perfect. 

“You can stay you know,” Louis says before swiping his tongue against Harry’s again. “Nap might be good.” 

“‘Kay,” Harry mumbles. His joggers are still gathered around his thighs, but he can pull them up after he gets comfortable, head falling back easily into the pillows. He’s just going to close his eyes for a little bit, his eyelids feeling heavy. He flips onto his side, a thick comforter wrapping around him before he drifts off.

+

Harry startles awake when his stomach grumbles and he’s disoriented for a second. Louis’ scent cocooning him the only thing calming him down. His mouth is so dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Even his teeth feel dry, exposed as he sucks in air through his mouth. The bottle of Pepsi is by the foot of the bed, but the thought of filling his mouth with the sickly sweet pop makes Harry want to wretch. Louis’ pressed up against Harry’s back, arm slung around Harry’s waist. Loose enough that Harry can extricate himself without disturbing him. 

He tries to shimmy away, hips first, only to get distracted when Louis’ snuffles behind him, nose dragging along the back of his neck. His breath puffs out hot, and it warms the knots of his spine more than he expects. 

It sends a familiar shudder over his skin and just as Harry's about to sink back down onto the bed with a whine, realization hits.

Shit.

He has to leave, like, now.

“Hey Lou,” Harry says, loud enough to make Louis stir. He smacks his lips, tongue swiping over his teeth. He’s not sure he’s even got time to down a glass of water before going. “I've got to, uh. I've got to head out.”

Louis’ eyes are still closed, even as his face is tilted towards the direction of Harry's voice. 

“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” Louis asks, eyebrows pinched. He smacks his lips, as if his mouth is just as dry as Harry’s. Even the rough sound of Louis clearing his throat hits Harry low in the chest. 

“No, I’ve got to um. Things. I’ve got things.” Louis flips back onto his back, leaving space for Harry to get out of bed. His joggers are still halfway down his thighs and he pulls them up hurriedly, tightening the string at the waistband. 

From what Harry can tell from the half-drawn curtains that the sun’s out again, at least, which means he can cycle home. The light filters in and Louis’ laying square in the middle of it as he squints at Harry. 

“Keep the clothes at least.” He licks his lips again, and Harry has to look away. 

“Yeah?” Harry’s not too keen on changing back into his rain stiff jeans, but still. 

“‘F course,” Louis sounds offended. He stretches out over the mattress with a puffed breath. “Okay. Just give me a sec and I’ll walk you out.” 

“No, it’s fine, I really”--Harry waves his hands about, even though Louis isn’t watching-- “thank you, but yeah I should just. Go. Thank you.”

“Y’already said that.” Louis opens his eyes with a lazy smile, and Harry aches to get back in bed with him. Yeah, alright, he really needs to go. 

“Well, I mean it,” Harry says as he backs away towards the door. He closes it behind himself, and bounds down the stairs. He curses to himself as his socked feet skid over the tiles into the kitchen. He can’t recall which tap actually has water and doesn’t want to risk wasting any beer to check, so he goes straight to the fridge. There’s no water, but there’s a row of juice cartons pushed against the back. He rips open the package and steals one, piercing the carton with the straw quickly. He sucks it down as he shuffles his shoes on, and folds up his rain jacket, stuffing it into his bag. 

He doesn’t have much time to think as he pedals away. He takes the long way home on purpose, looping around Mawn Hill twice as his chest feels both like it’s going to explode and collapse. The air is still cool as it kisses his skin, and it helps calm him down a little bit, wash off the scent he’s undoubtedly covered in. 

By the time Harry makes it home his fingers tremble as he locks up his bike on the back porch. He stops by his room to chuck off his clothes, dropping them at the foot of his bed in a hurry.

He’ll miss the comfort of his house when he moves out. He’s got his heat routine down pat by now. He knows how to get just the right temperature on the dial right away, and the water pressure is perfect as it pounds over his back. 

One, two, three deep breaths.

With each one his heart pumps harder, prickles of heat spreading down his chest to his groin. He clenches his arse, holding the count. Even the tops of his thighs tingle with anticipation, aching to be touched, pinched, scraped. His body knowing what it wants, and it’s worse, having experienced all that outside of a heat; now he knows exactly what he’s missing. 

The longer he can put off giving in; the easier his heat will go.

This time it’s next to impossible though, sweat is already prickling his temples and his breaths are laboured. He knows there’s still a way to go; his mind is still present, he can still think somewhat clearly beyond the need to come and be filled. But still, thoughts of Louis swim in his head and make it hard not to get worked up early. It doesn’t help that just hours ago Louis was pressed against him, holding his cock and pumping him through an orgasm. It’s like the ghost of his touch still lingers, as if Harry can feel his breath in places he hasn’t even been.

It’s nerve wracking, feeling this bound to another person. Having just the echoes of him still making Harry’s pulse race. He scrubs himself all over until his skin is red and raw, hoping to work it out of him. It doesn’t work; his brain supplying images of Louis soothing his tender skin. Laving at the angry scratches with his tongue and wrapping Harry up in the softest of blankets. Each of Harry’s inhales feel like a feeble attempt to pull him back to reality where he’s stood alone in his tub, skin aflame with the need to be touched.

It’s not working.

He can feel himself growing damp as he dries himself off, and he picks out a few old, threadbare towels that have seen better days but always soothe his overheated skin during his heat. And saves him loads of laundry. He drapes them over his mattress, tucking them in properly so they stay put, and launches himself into bed. 

He needs to sleep while he can, and he flips onto his front so he can burrow his face into his pillow. It helps to have something to bite instead of crying out. It also helps to have his hips snug against the mattress, so that he can grind against the bed while he’s sleeping. 

He tosses and turns, body limp with exhaustion and nerves so sensitive he’s almost numb with it. Louis is on his mind. He imagines Louis making sure the bed was made with the right sheets, the ones he’d recommended. Fingers spread as smoothed them before hopping in slipping between them with his bare legs. 

Even his dreams are inhabited with Louis; he’s back in the shed, snogging him but this time they don’t stop. Harry doesn’t hold himself back, the heel of his palm pressing against Louis’ groin. Louis wraps his legs around Harry’s waist, a breathy, “Touch it,” the only words spoken before Harry undoes Louis’ jeans.

He wakes up when dream him’s fingers press against the tender, hot flesh of Louis’ knot. 

He’s made a mess already, thrashing against his sheets. His pillow is damp with spit, his mouth dry from having bit into it so much. The rest of his bed is covered in sweat, slick and come, filling the room with a heady, closed in smell. He wants to catch his breath, but he’s too tired to even move.

Stretching his legs, his foot hooks over the discarded joggers he lent from Louis and that’s it. He’s lost it. He pulls them up to his face, sucking heavy breaths through the fabric, trying to catch any lingering scent. It’s faint, but it’s just enough. Harry grunts as he bites down on the fabric, and continues playing with himself. 

Distantly, Harry wonders what would’ve happened if he’d just let himself get carried away that first night. Is that the only reason Louis keeps him around? Because he hasn’t quite given anything up yet? 

He shivers with it, with the doubt and arousal all melding into one. He can’t think about it--literally can’t. He tries, he really tries not to think about Louis, but it proves impossible. He’s in Harry’s dreams, raspy voice feeding straight into Harry’s nervous system, igniting every nerve. At some point Harry wakes up feeling like someone is pressed against his back and instead of panicking, he thinks it’s Louis, there to take care of him. 

The worst part is it’s the best heat he’s ever had, and he can’t be sure Louis’ presence in his life, his residence in Harry’s mind isn’t the reason for that. He’s never actually pictured someone during his heats. Never wanted to, too busy trying to soothe the itch under his skin, trying to calm his frantic arousal with fingers and lube and plastic. With a constant headache and aching wrists, never getting fully comfortable. The orgasms never fully satisfying. Until now. 

No, the worst part is when he’s laundering his sheets he remembers the last time he saw Louis. The time they did something else Harry has to cross off his list. Or really, two things. He’s nearly halfway through, with nothing but Louis’ name scribbled over it and no other prospects. Not only is he getting emotionally attached; he’s also shooting himself in the foot.

That’s when he knows he needs to stop.

+

Except he can’t stop, not really. They’re actually friends now, is the thing.

By the time Harry’s got his wits about him again, there are three texts from Louis waiting for him. One asking if Harry wants to help him babysit the twins, then a follow up specifying it’s not an O thing and he doesn’t expect Harry to do any work, just keep Louis company, and the last one saying if Harry’d rather, Louis has tickets to a rugby match; it’d be just as loud but have less children. 

It does something to Harry, knowing that Louis thought of him--thought of him enough to prepare alternate plans, no less. And it’s a problem. When Harry gets in touch with Louis he doesn’t bring up his heat, figuring that he must’ve clued in after Harry’s long silence and absence. Because it’s not like he might think Harry was avoiding him on purpose, right? There’s a lick of guilt in Harry’s gut from not only dropping off the map, but using Louis as his mental stand in during his heat. There’s no way that Louis could ever know, though. Harry has to suppress a laugh that turns into a cough. Nope, no, Louis can certainly never know. 

At the very least Harry’s realization lets him admit, if only to himself, that he missed Louis--even if they were just out of touch for a couple of days-- and he doesn’t waste a second making up for lost time. The rugby match is a go, and so is ice cream after work the next day, and visiting Louis at work…

None of it devolves into any kind of sex. And Harry starts to feel a bit more on steady ground. He might not have made progress with anyone else, but this works. He can be friends with Louis, keep it strictly...well, hands only, if that. Maybe they’ve moved past their brief physical interlude, and Harry can just. Work off of the memories while he looks for other As to mess around with and actually get through his list the way he originally intended. 

He thinks this must be what Louis wants as well. Since he’s not initiating anything beyond shoulder bumps and a steady hand on his hip, leading Harry through crowds. It’s all friendly, nothing more to it. At least that’s what he keeps telling himself.

+

Louis stops by the shop the next day. They haven’t made any plans, which doesn’t really mean anything so Harry isn’t surprised when Louis shows up, bicycle in tow, asking for a tune up. Harry mounts it easily on the work stand, and rests his hand on the fender while he spins the wheel. It definitely hasn’t seen daylight in a while, traces of dust smudging against the pads of his fingers.

“Might need new brake pads,” Harry comments as he watches the front wheel turn despite the brake lever being pushed down all the way. Louis peers over the work station eyebrows raised, rocking back on his heels with a hum. “Did you ride it here?”

“How else would I know if it needed a tune up?” Louis asks this with a cock of his head, and Harry has to swallow down a reprimand. The brakes are bad enough that he could’ve easily gotten into an accident. 

Harry pinches the front tire, checking the air pressure. Definitely needs a bit more air but it’s not too bad. The drive chain and derailer though, those are a mess. Harry swipes his fingers across it showing Louis his blackened hand. “You can kind of tell. You shouldn’t be biking around with poor brakes, you know.”

Louis’ mouth tugs to the side but he shrugs easily. He grabs one of the chairs and straddles it, crossing his arms over the back as he watches Harry work. “Just stuck my foot out to slow down.”

“New shoes are more expensive than new brakes.”

“In the right place I am, then, aren’t I?” Louis says with a sly smile. Harry feels a pull in his own cheeks, and instead he tenses his nose and lets his brows pull down into a frown. 

“Most people get their bikes tuned in spring, not the end of the summer,” Harry comments, trying to keep his routine down in Louis’ presence. Normally the tune ups they offer are basic, but Harry doesn’t want to be responsible for anything happening to Louis. And he might, maybe, just maybe, be showing off a little bit as he detaches the front wheel and sets it aside, taking a closer look at the fork and headstand. 

“Well you’re always going on about how nice the trails are around town, need a proper cycle to come along yeah?”

Harry’s fingers slip as he detaches the front brake. It’s bad enough that Louis’ presence itself is distracting, then he goes and says things like that; suggesting that they can go on long bike rides together.

Louis continues, “Figured my BMX bike wouldn’t do, yeah?” He’s lifted himself onto one of the work counters, and he kicks his heels against the wall, adding to the scuffs already there.

“Right, yeah.” 

Louis smiles brightly at that. It’s innocent and still loaded enough that Harry holds his breath for a fraction of a second longer than usual. He continues to work on Louis’ bike, trueing the wheels and replacing the front brakes. Cleaning off the chain with a rag that leaves his hands filthy. It makes him oddly self-conscious and he’s not sure what to do. Part of him wants to show off, and the other part feels like he’s doing a poor job representing himself really. Os shouldn’t get their hands dirty, figuratively or literally, and here he is with blackened nails and grease stuck to his calloused fingers. 

“Could you pass me the lube?” Harry asks, voice nearly cracking as he tries to wipe his hands down. He’s sure a jab is coming, some comment about how Harry shouldn’t need any lube if the job’s done right, but instead Louis just turns in the direction Harry nodded in, exposing the line of his throat. He grabs it easily and his gait is determined as he takes the three steps needed to crowd Harry’s space. Harry’s still got his eyes locked on Louis’ throat, even as he grabs the bottle. He’s close enough that Harry could smell him if he just focused hard enough. It’s so welcoming, a spot where he could just slump down and bury his nose in, making him duck low enough that Louis’ fingers can tangle in his hair--

It’s to be expected that he lets out a strangled noise, squeezing the lube bottle tightly. Louis’ tips his head at that, expression slightly confuddled. 

“Y’alright?”

“Yeah, just. Long day.”

Louis frowns at that. “Don’t need it now, you know. ‘M not like...waiting for you to finish.”

“Uh. You’re not?” Harry blinks, forehead tensing further. So what, Louis was just watching? He tries to control his face at that revelation, rolling his lips into his mouth. 

“I mean,” Louis huffs and shakes his head, “I’m waiting _for you_ not my bike. You’re off soon, right?”

“Oh.” Harry has to stop himself from running his fingers through his hair, hands still a bit of a mess. He wraps the rag he’s been using around it instead. “Yeah, ‘m off whenever.”

“Okay, neat. I’ll just wait.” Louis points his thumb back at the counter with a pull at the corner of his mouth.

Harry doesn’t even think to ask what Louis is talking about and what he’s got planned, blinking down at the mounted bicycle. There’s not much left to do, and he’s fairly quick, wiping everything down. He washes his hands thoroughly in the sink, knowing that Louis might actually get a good look at them later is incentive to scrub them more than usual. There’s always going to be a thin line of grease around his nails, having permanently permeated his skin. But Louis would know that from before. Harry clears his throat to himself, not sure why this is bothering him now. 

He’s still on edge when he’s faced with Louis’ wide happy smile as he returns.

“‘M done now,” Harry says, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He wishes he’d had another change of clothes as Louis eyes him. His fingers catch along the side of Harry’s waist, leading him out of the store and Harry has to stop himself from succumbing to a full body shiver. 

He’s fine. There’s nothing out of the ordinary happening. 

Harry doesn’t ask where they’re going, happy to walk his bike next to Louis and follow his lead. He’s curious, is the thing, and it feels natural to follow Louis’ lead. He doesn’t doubt Louis has something in mind, especially from the way the corner of his mouth twitches. 

“Isn’t this the shop you’re always talking about?” Louis asks, nodding towards Soundscape Records, and sprinting towards the steps. He leans against the railing with expectation in his eyes. It’s not possible for Harry to resist, and he locks up his bike. He can’t stop himself from biting his lower lip, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Harry leads the way into the shop, and Louis lets him browse on his own as he looks around. As Harry would expect, Louis is drawn to the corner with the shirts and posters. Harry watches him finger through the shirts as he makes his way through the stacks. They’d all look good on him, really.

He’s not missing any records, but there’s always something tempting him, which is why he avoids stopping by the shop too often. He’s got to watch his spending if he wants to be properly independent when he moves out. He’s not expecting to find a bondmate anytime soon, and even when he does, he wants to make sure he can stand on his own two feet and not just… fall at their feet and expect them to cover for him. 

He can get one, though, and he’s trying to decide between two records when Louis presses up against him. He swings his arms around Harry’s waist, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder. “Which one do you want, love?”

“Can’t decide,” Harry muses. It's a question of upfront cost versus longterm spending as he weighs between a costly Joy Division collectible, or a cheaper debut album by Milk Teeth; it seems like the safe bet but it could easily fuel a new obsession, and lead to all the more spending in the future. 

“Hmm,” Louis hums, his fingers pressing along the corners of the records. He pulls them out of Harry’s hands. “Let’s get both,” he says with a wink, backing towards the counter.

“Lou, don’t I’ve got-- I can pay for one of them at least.” He starts to scramble with his wallet, he really should have enough for one.

“Nah, I’m getting you both,” Louis slides his palms along the counter, easily conversing with the cashier.

It’s not something you do with _just friends_ is the thing. And the pleased look on Louis face as he heads to the cashier sends Harry’s heart plummeting to his feet. He’s been going along with it, enjoying himself, without even properly realizing that he's been enabling this, basking in the attention. 

He leaves the shop, unlocking his bike with trembling fingers and strained breath. 

His face must still look stunned when Louis returns to him with a blinding smile, handing over a paper sleeve with the records. He reaches out for Harry’s hand, and Harry watches himself take it, his own fingers tangling with Louis’. 

He wants to be here. He wants to be courting Louis but he just-- that’s not part of the plan. It’s not part of the plan at all and how could he even get serious with Louis? Who would probably be caught snogging someone the very same night Harry formally agreed to go together. 

Harry still feels in a haze as they walk along the street, holding tightly onto his new records, and knuckles going white on the handlebars of his bike. Louis is retelling some trivia the cashier shared with him and from the way his smile keeps tugging sideways he must be able to tell Harry’s not paying attention, not one bit. 

Louis tugs at Harry’s hand, his teeth digging into his lip. “Haz, you alright? You look like you’ve had a fright.”

Harry registers to question, but all he can see is Louis’ legitimate concern and he can’t handle it. The desire to pull him in close and taste him again, feel the possessive bite of his teeth, is overpowering and Harry steps ahead. He’s the one tugging Louis along now. Only a couple of streets they need to walk until Harry pulls Louis into a pub. It’s one they know well and have been to before. Instead of Harry bringing them to the bar though he stalks past it towards the back, and down the stairs towards the loos.

Louis lets the back of his hand graze the front of Harry’s arm, and he’s struck by a flash of the last time Louis touched him like this. In bed, they were, and Harry’d muttered, “love when you do that,” his flesh goose pimpling at the touch.

And he feels it again, now. The immediate physical reaction on his part, but also the realization that Louis remembered it. And that’s why he’s touching Harry like that again. He knows how to make Harry feel like this, pulling whines out of him. No wonder everyone wants him when he’s so good at reading people. 

They can't go into the loos though, Harry tugging Louis along behind the stairs a spot they’ve found themselves repeatedly before, mouths mashing against one another.

How Harry didn’t see this coming, he’ll never know.

Louis catches on quickly, and his mouth is hot against his, steady and determined. Tongue slick as he swipes it over the seam of Harry’s lips. He’s gives in easily, opening up with a buried moan. He just wants to get closer, his pulse beating loudly in his ear. His entire senses filled with Louis-- with his scent and his fingers over his shoulder, the slick clicking of their mouths moving against each other.

Harry can’t keep doing this. He really cannot keep doing this. He’s damp just from kissing and what he wants, what he really bloody wants is for Louis to touch him, either lightly or roughly just-- put his hands on him. Sate the flames that spread over his skin. He wants Louis to command him, take him home, and never let go.

And it’s too much. Harry hasn’t even gotten anywhere with his list, and he really has to. And Louis, well… Everyone knows Louis isn’t a courting type of guy. He might be trying with Harry because it might get him further, but he would get tired of Harry so quickly. He’s barely got anything to offer, and definitely won’t be offering what Louis is used to. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” Harry mutters, trying to catch his breath.

“What?” Louis asks, eyebrows knotted. His eyes narrowed in confusion. His tongue swipes over his lips. His reddened, wet lips.

“This,” Harry says, pulling at Louis’ collar, and he steps back at that. Confusion even more apparent on his face. His chest puffs out before deflating. 

“I don’t--” Louis’ tongue pokes out of his mouth again, but this time he bites down on it. “You want to see other people?”

Harry can only nod to that, heart clenching at the words. It is what he wants. That’s the whole point; lots of people. He still has to steady his voice when he speaks, “I mean, yeah. I wouldn’t expect you to…you know.”

“Wouldn’t expect me to what?”

“I mean. I _know_ , I wouldn’t expect you to stay with one person anyway. It’s good for both of us, yeah?”

“Right. My reputation,” Louis practically spits out, and Harry bites his lip. He should know better, really. No one likes to be called on their shit, especially not alphas. Of course Louis would be no different.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Harry adds, and Louis shakes his head as if it was beside the point.

“Right.” Louis tips his head back against the wall, and brings one of his hands up to his face. His other hand is still holding the records he bought Harry. 

“We should go back,” Harry says, trying not to look directly at Louis’ face.

“We should eat. And we’re at the pub anyway, you always loved their pie.”

“Yes, but--” Harry starts, not even knowing what else he wants to say. He does love their pie. And his stomach is clenching, not just from anxiety but from hunger. And he doesn’t want to part ways with Louis just yet, he can’t. Not while he’s still wearing this broken face, the one that Harry can hardly recognize as his Louis’. Not that Louis is his. He shakes his head, trying to get those intrusive thoughts out. 

But at the same time, he feels proper stupid for not realizing that Louis and he weren’t on the same page at all. As he watches the downward pull of Louis’ mouth as he speaks, shame punches holes through Harry’s lungs. He just didn’t think Louis would want anything serious, let alone try for it. 

But it’s done now. He’s made his intentions clear; rebuffed Louis’ step forward. If he weren’t so distraught with Louis’ reaction he might be angry that they can’t keep doing this. It’s been nice, having the validation of Louis’ attention. But he can’t lead him on. It just wouldn’t be fair.

He lets Louis lead them to a table that Harry recognizes as theirs, and the weight of the evening settles even heavier on his mind. Louis was probably going to ask officially to court him. And Harry put the brakes to it before he could. Does that make things better, or worse? Harry can’t quite decide.

They order their meals, guinness pie for Harry and steak and mash for Louis, and the silence falls heavy around them when the server leaves. Louis slumped back into his chair. He seems to be trying to widen his shoulders with every deep inhale, clasped hands proudly on the table. 

Harry’s not sure why, but this isn’t what he expects at all. If they just make it through tonight, everything will be fine again, though. It has to be. 

“Tell me about the records, love?” Louis asks softly and there’s a crack, and Harry recognizes him. It’s _his_ Louis again, just wanting to know Harry’s thoughts on something. Wanting to absorb whatever Harry has to say, eager to hear it.

So that’s how they spend their meal, Louis asking Harry questions and Harry indulging him, slipping back into the comfortable space of the two of them being friends. They can go back to just being friends who go to rugby together and have pints and just. Don’t touch or kiss or text every spare moment. It’ll be fine.

Louis makes to pay for their meal, and Harry’s inclined to protest, “You don’t have to.”

He means it, too. With not having paid for a record at all Harry certainly has enough to cover his share. He tries to will Louis to succumb, but it doesn’t quite work.

“Please, Harry, just let me?” Louis pleads, and his expression is pained. He wants to finish out the night as intended. It hurt Harry more than he can verbalize, sitting in front of Louis as he wanted to continue presenting his alpha courting, despite it being a dead end.

Harry squeezes Louis’ hand gently, thumb pressing into his wrist. “Yeah, alright.”

+

Uni starts and brings with it a whirlwind of very needed distractions. 

Lectures are one thing that take up a set chunk of hours in the week, along with their reading lists. But there’s also the process of moving out, which Harry had no idea would be so involved. He’d managed to accumulate so many things that he didn’t need, and yet needed so much more. There was also adjusting to Niall’s unpredictable and obsessive cleanliness, dealing with his mum’s daily phone calls which eat up important study time, and tolerating the teasing from Niall that resulted in. Niall had no right to call him out, anyway, always went home to do his wash because he claimed the water was better. As if he didn’t stay gone just so his mum and could feed him and returned with loads of groceries that his mum bought just for him to take home. 

Harry’d been excited to be living with Niall, but he hadn’t counted on the aspect of living with a friend that meant there’d always be something to do, something to talk about and someplace to go. If Niall’s home when Harry comes by after class there’s no way he can get to studying right away because Niall has a story about one of his classes and then there’s supper that they have together and maybe shows to catch up on and suddenly it’s late and Harry’s not done any of his reading yet.

Harry always considered himself quite studious and productive, but apparently he can’t actually read as fast as he thought either; spending hours in the library trying to imprint the contents of his textbooks into his head, the only way of forcing himself to actually sit down with his books. He doesn’t have much success with that, but at least it keeps him occupied, and his mind off of not hearing from Louis at all since their ill fated outing.

Alfie, a beta from one of his study groups asks him out, and Harry should say yes, should want to. But he doesn’t feel quite ready yet. He’s just not sure how that’s supposed to work. How he’s supposed to go out and try to be interested in someone and then bring them home to his bed, with sheets that Louis helped him pick out. He could always go to their place, he knows, objectively, that that’s an option. But it still makes his stomach twist. 

It doesn’t help that Harry was certain he’d at least see Louis once more, when he picked up his bicycle from the shop, and then they could resume the thread of their friendship. But the bicycle seems to have made itself a permanent home in the back of the shop. Louis did say he only wanted it looked at so he could go cycling with Harry. And leaving the bicycle at the shop made his intentions quite clear. 

Still, Harry makes an effort to shuffle the bikes around every now and then, to avoid Jeff noticing that Louis is essentially just being stored there. At some point he has to come pick it up, he has to. 

It’s surprisingly easy to avoid Louis as a topic. Aside from Niall, it’s not like anyone expected them to be anything at all. It’s not like anyone knew, really, since Harry wasn’t keen on sharing anything that was going on with anyone. He can’t decide whether he’s grateful that that’s the case, because on one hand it should help him get over it, whatever _it_ was. But he also can’t quite get Louis out of his mind, still dreaming about him, still longing to hear from him. As soon as his phone buzzes with a text, his breath sticks in his throat. But it’s never Louis. Instead, their conversation keeps getting pushed further down in his text history, and he has to scroll down to find it. Fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’s gone so far as to typing a **Hi** , thumb hovering over the screen.

It’s not enough, though, is it? 

He’s startled when there’s a knock quickly followed by the door to his room being yanked open. His hand cramps and it slips through his fingers. He stares after it as it clatters to the floor. 

“Oi! Liam won’t let us eat until we’re all there. Dunno why he’s so bossy when he doesn’t even live here, but,” Niall says with a shrug. Harry’s fingers twitch as Niall speaks, and he palms the side of the mattress. His nerves must still be visible because Niall eyes Harry up and down, a frown forming on his face. “Bit early to be sexting, innit?”

He can’t even bring himself to deny it, blinking dumbly at his phone. He moves to grab it, remembering at the last minute that he’s naked under his sheets and that Niall has been complaining about being flashed and well-- he doesn’t want to risk angering him further.

He needn’t worry though, Niall bending down and picking up his phone. He sucks in his cheeks as he looks at the screen shaking his head. “Shoulda guessed that, I s’pose. M’holding on to this ‘til after brekkie. Can’t have you get distracted by yer loverboy, I need to eat.”

“Wasn’t doing anything,” Harry grumbles, and catches the joggers Niall throws his way. It seems he’s planning on staying in the room until Harry gets dressed. He does his best to keep himself moderately covered up while he slips his legs into the joggers. If the blanket slips then so be it; Niall doesn’t have to stay in the room. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

“You can look at it. There’s nothing there.” Hopefully, that is. Hopefully his thumb didn’t slip and send an unsolicited _Hi_ at arse o’clock in the morning. Harry watches Niall glance at the screen, eyebrows furrowed. 

“You’ve not got much game t’all, do ya?” 

Niall throws the phone at Harry and he catches it, heart in his throat. Not sent. Thank god. He sighs heavily, flopping back down into the bed.

“I don't see what the problem is,” Niall says, “Jus’ call him up, have a study date or summat.”

The problem is Harry wants it too much. Well, maybe not it specifically. But Louis. Harry _misses_ Louis. So much so that a texted greeting feels like too much and too little at the same time. 

Harry glares at Niall, but he doesn’t even notice. “You saw what happens.” Niall's eyes narrow, brows knotting thoroughly at the centre of his brow. Harry continues, “At the party?”

“You had fun? Don’t see what the problem is with that, mate.”

“We just see each other at parties and then we hook up. I'm just one of his…scores.”

“Thought you said he took you out for ice cream. And dinner? Seems pretty serious to me.”

Harry’s breath whooshes out of him and he just wants to slump back on the bed. He doesn’t even care that Liam’s waiting for them with proper fry-up. Even his stomach, clenching with hunger can motivate him to get up. He’s just so tired. He’s so tired of pretending like he’s not missing Louis, and that he’s not upset that he’s the whole reason he’s in this predicament.

“I turned him down, Niall. And now I just can’t. I miss him.”

“You miss the attention,” Niall corrects and he’s not right. That’s the problem. It’s not just the attention, it’s _Louis_ that he misses. He just wants the friendship back.

But if Louis doesn’t want to see him anymore, it’s not like he’s going to press the matter further. Why would he want to hang out with an O that turned him down? Harry can’t imagine. If it’d been Louis to withdraw first...Harry probably couldn’t even imagine seeing him again without falling apart.

Niall’s full on laughing now, as if he pinpointed what the problem was. “You miss getting laid,” he lets out with a cackle.

“ _Niall._ ” 

“Oh, believe me, I get it,” Niall says with an exaggerated wink. As if Harry needs to be reminded that Niall and Bressie essentially embody the perfect courting example. He just wants Niall to keep it down. He can practically picture Liam puttering about in the kitchen with sharpened ears, waiting for them. Or even worse, lurking outside Harry’s bedroom door, curious about what’s taking so long. He’d clue in immediately and laugh at Harry if he only knew the predicament he found himself in. “See, that’s why this bloody list was a bad idea. This is what happens when people get physical, they get attached,” is what Liam’d say. 

As if he’d understand, anyway.

“You know you’ve got me to thank for that,” Harry comments, never going to let Niall live it down. He’ll mention it in their wedding toast. He’s earned it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe you should turn your skills over to yer own love life, yeah?” Niall just shakes his head fondly before returning to the kitchen.

Harry collapses back onto his bed, spreading out his limbs. He’s right, really. He should probably at least start dating again. It’s not like he has all the time in the world.

+

Harry is the last one out the door with a late morning class that he slogs his way through before heading over to the bike shop. Niall’s words still echo through his head. He’s right, is the thing. Harry needs to take control of his own dating life. 

Harry decides to text Alfie from study group. He’s got sideswept, feathery hair and a nose ring, and seems nice enough. A beta is probably a good person to get back on the horse with anyway. 

Despite Harry's lack of investment, he still gets hit with a case of nerves when he doesn’t hear back from Alfie right away. He's is probably busy in class or something, or working--does he work? Harry doesn’t know but, maybe-- or he’s just not near his phone. It doesn’t mean anything.

Still, embarrassment seems to slip down his back and weasel its way through his chest while he works. It’s entirely possible that Harry misread Alfie's flirting all along. Just like he’d misread the entire situation with Louis.

And of course, now that Louis is in his head, he can’t stop thinking about him. 

He sets his phone on vibrate just to make sure he doesn’t miss the answer if it comes, and he cranks the music in the shop, opting for Thin Lizzy to keep him from bouncing off the walls.

Even biking home doesn’t seem to quell his nausea. He has to pick up bacon he remembers, Niall making a show out of eating the last strip in the morning. Milk too, probably. He can fit a load of groceries in his rucksack if he packs it cleverly. 

Harry moves to turn his bike around, and several things happen at once:

He thinks he feels his phone vibrating in his back pocket, it startles him enough that his head jerks back instinctively, glancing away from the road. His hands follow suite, steering him in the wrong direction and before he knew it he isn’t coasting anymore, he’s veering towards the pavement with no control of his bike. 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the fall coming. He tries to brace himself, but lands under the bike, the handles digging into his chest as he scrapes across the pavement as the gravel digs into his exposed skin. 

He stays down for a beat as his shoulder pulses from the impact. 

Shit.

He rolls over onto his back, kicking at his bike feebly, just enough that it’s not biting into his flesh uncomfortably. His helmet is giving him a bit of a cushion as he tips his head farther back. He blinks his eyes open to nothingness; dark edges overtaking his blurry vision, and he promptly closes them again in a panic.

He probably shouldn’t get up just yet; not much use if he can’t bloody see.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Someone asks, and Harry nods instinctively, although he’s not quite all there, is he? His shoulders and arm hurts, and his legs from the impact, but he’d think he’d be good to hobble back home if it weren’t for his head hurting, too. And well. The lack of vision, really. 

He blinks his eyes open again and it’s… less blurry? He thinks, at least. If he squints hard enough he can sort of focus on the face in front of him. A girl about his age, from what he can tell. He’s not sure if the way her hair halos around her head is real, or just a side effect of his impaired vision.

“M’okay,” he says smacking his lips as he speaks, closing his eyes again.

“Your eyes aren’t focusing on me though-- Shit. Okay. Um,” she starts to ramble, and Harry just lets her words bounce around him in bubbles. “Can I call someone for you? Do you live nearby? Can I like-- your parents maybe?”

Harry frowns despite the pain, accompanied with a shake of his head. 

His mum would be overly worried. Especially since he moved out she’s been extremely present in his phone log, email inbox and notifications. He’s only just managed to wean her off of him. 

“‘M fine, can just. Can just walk.” It’s not too, too far. He just needs to stay down for a bit longer. He tries to shake out his wrist and winces. Maybe he should leave his bike here and come pick it up later. 

The girl is nodding uneasily as she speaks, “I don’t think I can leave you here…”

Harry scoffs at that, the pulsing in his face getting stronger. It can’t be that late, he can take as long as he needs. He twists himself on the ground, managing to get himself into a sitting position even with a swimming head. His arm’s stiff as he pulls at his phone. Eyes reduced to slits as he squints at it, trying to decipher the blurred text on the screen. 

“Do you need me to…?” She asks and he’s not sure what she means but she seems to want his phone. She’s struggling with his bike, still holding it up as she tries to lean down towards him. He hands the phone over and she readjusts her stance, eyes scanning across the screen. “Which one of these do you want me to call? Alfie?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head with a wince. “Should be-- under that, should be--”

“Louis?” She pronounces it _Lewis,_ and Harry starts to chuckle, cutting himself off when his chest starts to hurt. Perhaps the fall was worse than he thought.

Still, he has to correct her, “Louie.”

“Oh, alright,” she mutters, crease between her brow deepening. He watches as she brings his phone to her ear. Huh.

He should probably get himself back down on the ground, keeping his head elevated isn’t doing him any favours. 

It’s not comfortable, but at least it's there. He can stay like this until his vision is fully back. 

“Okay, he should be here in ten.” She sighs deeply, maneuvering the bike so it can stand nearby while she sits next to him. Harry just hums in response as he rubs his hands over his thighs, trying to dislodge the pebbles that stuck to his palms as he landed. Ten minutes ‘til he can leave, that’s alright.

+

“Hey, Haz,” Louis’ voice cracks through Harry’s consciousness and he blinks his eyes open. That can’t be right. He was just thinking about Louis and how nice it would be to see him and now he’s here? 

He tips his head back as he watches Louis talk to the girl, taking Harry’s bike from her. How does he know her? 

Oh.

Oh shit. She must’ve called him when she had Harry’s phone. That’s why she said his name. He’s filled with the desire to apologize to Louis for him getting dragged into this, being disturbed, when Harry had no intentions to do that. 

“Take care, yeah?” The girl says before leaving, and Harry blinks after her. He directs his gaze back to Louis who’s holding out a hand for Harry to grab onto. He does, and Louis pulls him up into a standing position. 

“Greta said you kept wanting to pass out, none of that on my watch, stay up.” Louis directs Harry towards a streetlight so he can have something to lean against.

His tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, voice gritty when he asks, “Who’s Greta?”

“The girl who helped you?” A look of concern is etched on Louis’ face. His eyes keep flicking up, away from Harry’s eyes, towards the spot that’s pulsing. Christ, he must be a right sight. 

“Oh. I never asked her name,” Harry says with a frown. “I don’t even think I thanked her.” Harry’s mumbling mostly to himself now, stood cradling his bum arm with his good one. He watches as Louis inspects the bike before trying to fold it up and fit it in the boot of his car. Harry didn’t even know Louis had a car. Unless he borrowed it from someone. Would he go through that trouble, just to get Harry out of a pickle? 

“You know there’s these little bag things you can strap onto your bike, you could put a first aid kit in there. It might slow you down a little bit but. I think it’s worth it for your safety.”

“I know. I do work at a bicycle shop. We sell those.”

Louis shakes his head. “Yes, Christ. Didn’t stop this from happening, did it?”

“It was an accident.”

“Yeah. And that’s what the kits are for. Accidents.” Louis looks concerned, lines grooving his forehead. He watches as Harry takes off his helmet and cradles it in his lap. 

“It wasn’t that bad, helmets barely busted.” Nevermind that he lost his vision for a few minutes. Louis doesn’t need to know that. 

“What happened?” Louis asks, eyes shifting to Harry before going back on the road. His jaw clenching tight. “Greta said she only saw the fall.”

“I uh--” Harry gulps. He’s suddenly acutely aware that he doesn’t have his phone on his person, Greta having held onto it and passed it to Louis and now it’s on the console. Within arms reach, sure, but still so far away when you’ve got a throbbing arm and stiff shoulder. 

He tries really hard not to look at it. He hasn’t had a chance to see what the text might say. “Thought I got a text and it just. I guess it was unexpected.” 

“Oh? Someone keeping you waiting?” He says it with lightness in his voice, as he check his blindspot. Harry’s stomach clenches at the jab, the stunted silence filling the air. Louis must pick up on it, turning towards Harry with a slight smile on his face. It falters as soon as he makes eye contact with Harry. “Oh.” He clears his throat, eyebrows pulling tight on his face. “Alphas can be real knotheads sometimes. Pro’ly just trying to rile you up.”

“He’s not-- It’s uh. It’s a beta.” Harry must have gotten brain damage of some kind there’s no reason for him to specify that. Especially not when it seems to hit Louis even harder. 

“Right.” Louis sounds wistful, but his fingers flex tensely as he tightens his grip on the wheel. He sucks his cheeks in, pursing his lips as if about to speak. His eyes narrow briefly and he shakes his head. Disappointment sinks in Harry’s gut. Anything would feel better than silence. Any reaction that would suggest Louis cares. 

Harry needs to busy himself and takes the opportunity to inspecting the scratched surface of his helmet.

”You never picked up your bike,” Harry says dumbly. His brain-to-mouth filter seems to have evaporated.

“Yeah. Didn’t think you’d want to see me.”

“I do.” Harry’s head hurts already, and he still feels like there’s a second headache building from that. He can’t help the bluntness. “I do want to see you.”

“Harry...” Louis’ voice fades, leaving only the hum of the car engine. His thumbs dig into the steering wheel and his knuckles pale.

“Missed you a lot,” Harry says, not allowing Louis to speak over him. He’s hurt and he should be allowed to say what he wants and it’s the truth. Louis looks at him with pleading eyes.

“Yeah?”

Harry nods as best as he can. His neck is stiff and while his gaze was numb earlier he can now feel his pulse in it. He's scared to look at himself and he avoids the rearview mirror when he gets in the car. He glances at the side mirrors, still avoiding his reflection.

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me,” Louis’ voice cracks through Harry's consciousness and he jerks his head back. He's probably right. Harry shouldn't be sleeping right now. “Where am I taking you?” Louis asks, he glances Harry's way even as he drives and normally Harry would complain that Louis isn't focused except he's the one who got into an accident because he was distracted. And what are the odds of two accidents in one day, really? It sounds like an exercise he'd have in a statistics class and the thought alone makes his head throb harder.

“Your mum's house?” 

“No,” Harry says and even he can tell he sounds petulant. “Mum would just worry too much. I'll call her tomorrow.” 

Louis nods, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Is there anyone at your place who can keep an eye on you?”

Harry has to think about it. He's not quite sure. He and Niall don’t exactly exchange schedules and he’s quite sure he’s due for a night in with Bressie since he was out with Harry and Liam the night before. Harry’d been looking forward to a quiet night in on his own, but that seems to be the opposite of what he needs now. 

Louis seems to sense his hesitation, a quick lick of his lips followed by teeth nipping at his top one before he speaks. “I can-- I can stay with you if you want.”

“You don't have to do that. You've already helped.” He doesn’t say, _Too much_ , because he doesn’t want Louis to be uncomfortable. But he really doesn’t feel like he deserves it.

Louis shakes his head with a tight, strained laugh. “Which is why I've got to make sure you're good. My responsibility now.” His words have a sense of finality to them, and Harry rolls his lips into his mouth. He’s not imagining the way Louis shoulders square as if he’s physically shouldering the responsibility of taking care of Harry. 

Harry settles in deeper into the passenger seat, and starts to direct Louis as he drives, since he’s hasn’t been to Harry’s new place. It pinches in his chest, all the missed opportunities they’ve had to hang out together. He never really wanted Louis to visit when he was still living with his mum-- didn’t want to have to answer questions about an alpha friend who was just a friend, didn’t want to risk falling into Louis’ orbit when his mum might interrupt at any time.

Harry had really looked forward to having Louis over at his new flat, but he’d let go of that excitement when they stopped speaking. Having it happen though feels odd. It’s like a measure of how long it’s been since they’ve seen each other; the awkwardness that settles in the air, the way Louis’ scent clashes with that of Harry and Niall’s settled ones. It’s a reminder of how impossible this situation seemed in Harry head, ever getting to actually see Louis in his doorway, his kitchen.

“Mugs?” Louis asks, pulling at the cabinets haphazardly. It wakes Harry from his haze.

“Left cabinet.” 

Louis moves over and Harry watches on, sitting himself down on the sofa and watching as Louis scrambles through the kitchen. He starts digging in the freezer and emerges with a bag of frozen broccoli. 

“A bit lumpy, but should do fine,” he says, offering Harry the bag. 

“Should probably clean up first.” Harry’s face felt tight and stiff, his shoulder throbbing. The cold would feel great, but he still feels like he has dirt imprinted on his face, the skin of his arm still pebbled from being pressed against the rough pavement. He needs to rinse his face, at the very least.

“Yeah, okay, um. I can...probably clean it up for you, yeah? A flannel and a bowl of water’ll do, yeah?”

Harry stretches out as he stands, pushing the bag of broccoli into Louis’ arms. He hisses at the contact, dropping it on the counter. Harry says, “I can do it myself.”

Louis’ mouth stretches open as if readying for a protest. Harry cuts him off before he can speak, “Louis. You’re making it worse. It can’t be that bad, I mean. I’m standing. My helmet’s not even cracked.”

 

“Right,” Louis answers, lips pressed tight. He doesn’t protest further, and Harry’s feet steer him towards the loo.

Harry hasn’t been worrying about what his face might look like until now. He’s been preoccupied with the dull throbbing on the side of his forehead and the nervous beating of his heart. Not until Louis’d seemed like he’d rather not have Harry see. Not until Harry realized Louis has been staring at him and Harry could look absolutely godawful. 

“Fuck,” Harry says on an exhale as he observes his reflection. He grimaces, mouth tugging open as he turns on the tap water. His arm and legs look okay, which he’s been able to tell already, mostly just grimy with dirt. But he’s got a proper cut along his forehead where the swelling is the worst, even his brow bone is swollen and filthy with dried up blood. Head wounds always look worse than they are, he knows, but he’s still not keen on how this will heal. With his luck he’ll wake up with a black eye tomorrow. Great way to make an impression.

There’s a knock on the door, and Louis pops his head in. “I ordered some curry, can put some tea on if you tell me where you keep the good stuff.”

“Should be behind the kettle.” Harry keeps his eyes focused on the mirror. “‘M probably going to shower. Get rid of the dirt ‘n all.” Louis nods, expression seemingly deliberately blank.

“You know where to find me. Don’t fall asleep,” he adds, teasingly, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

Somehow the shower makes Harry feel worse. Like he’s awakened all the nerve endings in his body and all of him aches; his ribs and shoulder worst of all, but even one of his ankles is swollen. Not to mention the goose egg on his face. It’s the opposite side from where his hair naturally falls, and every attempt to try and cover it up fails. 

Louis is on the floor in the shared living room, boxes of curry surrounding him. _Geordie Shore_ is blasting on the telly and Louis seems transfixed as his mug of tea hovers by his mouth. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” Harry mumbles with amusement colouring his voice. 

“Couldn’t find the remote, s’all,” Louis defends himself. Niall has a specific spot for it, in the drawer under the telly, but of course Louis wouldn’t know to look there. Harry fetches it, and drops heavily down on the sofa. He wonders, briefly, what Louis thinks of the flat. Does he think it suits Harry? Does he think the potted plants on the windowsill are his? He had to go dig through the drawers for the cutlery he’s got in front of him. Did he read the postcards on the fridge? Will there be a new line of magnetic fridge poetry in his wake? 

Louis shifts where he sits so he can turn towards Harry on the sofa. His eyes drop to Harry’s joggers and when he glances down himself he notices they’re the ones he lent from Louis. Their eyes meet and remain locked until Harry forces himself to look away, rubbing his palms along his thighs. 

Louis’ throat bobs as he reorganizes the boxes of curry in front of him. “Fork or spoon?” He asks, plastic bag crinkling as his hand disappears into it. 

“No chopsticks?”

Louis shoots him a look with a raised eyebrow, but offers him the bag nonetheless. There, at the bottom, are two sets of chopsticks. They’re the plastic slippery kind, and while normally Harry’d love to show off his skills, he’s not sure today’s the right day for that. He bites down on his tongue, says, “You know, spoon is fine, probably.”

“So. You’re seeing a beta,” Louis comments and it goes straight to Harry’s throat. Louis’ mouth quirks into a calculated, stiff smile.

“It’s not-- I mean.” He could explain the situation. But there’s not much point. Maybe it’s better like this, with Louis thinking Harry’s actually dating around. Maybe it’ll help them get back to being friends and without the temptation of hooking up. “It’s nothing serious.”

Louis holds his fork in his fist as he shovels his food around in his food, just pushing it around. Harry’s not sure he’s even seen him eat anything yet. “Right yeah. Serious wouldn’t be any fun, would it?” 

Harry’s too tired to decipher Louis’ tone of voice, letting his head drop back against the headrest, his box of food resting high on his chest. He’s in that weird hungry-but-not-really space where his stomach clenches, but the thought of something heavy in his mouth, in his throat makes him uneasy. He pushes the curry box down next to him, heaving a sigh. 

Louis shakes his head at him. “Can’t believe you’re just disrespecting my generous meal like that.”

“Your meal?” Harry’s mouth twitches as he nods seriously.

“Are you saying this isn’t a genuine meal contribution? Wouldn’t be here without me, would it?” He scoffs, tipping his head to the side. He keeps munching on his own portion, stuffing his face until his cheeks are full and round. Through it all, he mumbles, “At least ‘m enjoying it, s’pose. Can always finish yours too if you’d rather make your own supper.”

Harry tries to tamp down on his amusement, his chest shaking with suppressed laughter. He can just see it in front of him, Louis making a show of eating both meals. Dramatically moaning as he chews on his rice. It’s not helping his headache, trying to control the laugh that wants to spill out of his mouth. But he tries to maintain his composure as he bats Louis’ hands away, keeping his box of curry to himself. 

With the fake fight for the box, Louis’ joined Harry on the sofa, and Harry can feel the desire in his limbs to slump closer. The heat of Louis’ leg when Harry brushes his knee against it is a jolt to the system. It’s like Harry hasn’t had the wherewithal to process that Louis is _here_ , in Harry’s flat. Just the two of them.

And Louis thinks he’s seeing someone else. Someone that Harry was supposedly so excited to hear from that he crashed his bike. Not exactly the ideal setup to rekindle whatever it was that they had going on.

Louis’ gentle teasing has loosened the air, the palpable tension now a loose yarn between them. It could still be resurrected, twined tight around Harry’s throat and chest and heart, and he wants to make sure that doesn’t happen. He understands, of course, that Louis isn’t happy about Harry dating a beta. Harry doesn’t think Louis is the type of person to see it as a insult to As to date a B. But he could see that Louis might think that he was merely an interlude to Harry. That maybe Harry lied to spare his feelings about wanting to see other people.

Harry hopes that’s not it, but there’s no way of knowing. He’d love to reassure Louis, drop his hand onto his thigh and rub the inside. Circle the tips of his fingers around Louis’ kneecap, nose along the bulge of his bicep and up to this armpit-- Harry has to shake himself out of it. He allows himself a sharp inhale that he tries to laugh off as to not disconcert Louis. 

You’d think Harry’d have more self control. A couple of weeks outside of Louis’ orbit has somehow not been enough for Harry to get a grip, just sitting close to him again making his thoughts run wild. That’s why he has to stick to other people for now, and keep things friends only with Louis. And as much as he wants to reassure Louis that it’s not him that’s the problem-- not at all-- he knows it’s a terrible idea. He won’t be able to control himself if Louis so much as brushes his little finger along the inside of his wrist. He can almost feel his pulse quicken at the thought.

Harry scarfs down the rest of his food as quickly as he can. He still doesn't have a proper appetite, but the jitters in his belly need to be quieted, and the only way he knows how to for the time being.

Despite Louis’ insistence that Harry can’t go to sleep, at a certain point in the evening he has to. Louis grumbles silently, “Where is everyone anyway? You don’t live alone do you?”

“Think Niall’s with his mate. Date night and all.” Harry braces himself for a barb about where Harry’s _mate_ is but Louis just frowns, shaking his head.

“S’weird, you’d think he’d be coming knowing something happened.” 

Well. Harry hasn’t exactly told them that he got injured… But Louis doesn’t need to know that; he must assume Harry’d called after his shower, since he spent so long getting changed and trying to cover up his banged up face, with no success. Harry doesn’t correct him, one shoulder rising and dropping in a careful shrug.

Louis checks his watch, chewing the inside of his cheek. Harry’s nearly passed out twice, snapped out of it by Louis’ voice. He definitely thinks this is real tiredness and not some sort of delayed accident reaction. “I guess you do need to sleep but I don’t-- I don’t think I want to leave you just yet.” He looks concerned, as if he expects Harry to shoo him out with a wave of his hand. Which wouldn’t happen, ever, really, but the thought of Louis even being concerned about it makes Harry’s heart hurt. 

“There’s extra blankets, we can make up the sofa.”

Louis nods along, serious face on. “Right, okay.” He gets up, tapping his empty curry box against his hip. “One correction though.”

“What?”

“I’ll make the bed on my own. Don’t need to overexert yourself, yeah?” Louis says it like a question, but it’s clear there’s no room for argument. Harry sniffs, and makes sure to roll his eyes to counter it.

+

Harry wakes up with a dry mouth and a headache. His face doesn’t throb as badly when he gets out of bed, but the sight that greets him in the bathroom mirror is horrifying. While the goose egg has gone down quite a bit, his eye socket bruised a dark blue and his brow is swollen. “Shit,” he mutters to himself. Niall’s going to be absolutely fuming that Harry didn’t call him.

He returns to his bedroom with a sag of his shoulders. The flat seems more quiet than normal, which mean Niall probably didn’t come back last night, that’s good, it means Harry can warn him before he’s confronted with Harry’s injuries. 

Harry’s phone isn’t on the bedstand, and he’s shaking out his duvet looking for it when he hears a throat clearing behind him. 

Louis is still there. He’s propped against the doorframe, one arm stretched out so he can brace himself. 

“You’re still here,” Harry says dumbly, and from the way Louis rubs the back of his neck it almost seems like he feels put on the spot. Harry doesn’t mean it in a bad way, but he doesn’t have time to 

“You got a text,” Louis says offering Harry his phone. Oh. It must’ve been in the living room. He takes it with tentative fingers, nearly brushing Louis’. 

Harry glances down at his phone, thumbing the screen. It’s from Alfie, from this morning. Which means whatever Harry thought he felt the day before, it wasn’t a text. He got himself into an accident for absolutely no reason. Even with his head bent, Harry’s eyes travel to Louis’. He wonders if Louis saw that it was from Alfie. He can’t tell. And not just because Louis’ face is shadowed, not just because Harry’s head still hurts and his left eye is so swollen he can barely open it. Mostly because he can’t trust himself to read the expression on Louis’ face. 

He doesn’t know what he wants. If he wants Louis to have pressed the screen when the notification came in. Harry swallows thickly. He knows it’s wrong; you shouldn’t invade someone’s privacy like that but...he wants Louis to have wanted to check, at least. 

“‘S Alfie,” he says, before he can overthink it. He ducks his head, not wanting to see Louis’ reaction.

Louis’ voice is breathier than normal when he speaks, “That’s nice.”

“Might have to reschedule that date,” Harry says with finality, before dropping his phone onto the bed.

Louis frowns, stepping deeper into the room. He’s holding some cream, and strides towards Harry with purpose. Harry stays still, breath stuck at the base of his throat. Louis lifts his hand, and Harry watches in slo-mo as it approaches his face. He can practically feel his pulse in his throat, mouth vibrating with want. 

Louis’ hand drops away before it makes contact with Harry’s face. “Does it still hurt?”

Harry’s voice resembles a croak more than anything, “Not really. Just looks bad.”

Louis looks like he might want to say something, mouth pursing, and his hand closing into a fist. “D’you have to get rid of the helmet now?”

“Yeah.”

“D’you want me to pick one up for you? I can go now, while you have brekkie,” Louis offers. As if this were some urgent matter.

“I’ll get one from work.” 

“But if you want to get back on the horse, well, the bike, sooner?”

“I think it’ll be a while ‘til then, really. I’ll have to work even if I can’t bike.” Louis frowns, as if about to protest and suggest that Harry take sick leave. Harry has to fight a smile in reaction to Louis’ concern. “I can work the till, there’s no heavy lifting involved, or hunching or anything.”

“Right.” Louis nods, somewhat uneasily, and it hits Harry then that maybe he doesn’t want to leave. 

“Just frightening customers,” Harry adds, prodding a laugh out of Louis. His eyes reduced to slits, wrinkling at the corners as he shakes his head.

“It’s not that bad,” Louis says and Harry doesn’t want to protest, so he doesn’t. 

Instead, he says, “Thanks. For. You know. All of this. You really didn’t--”

“Yeah, I did. ‘F course I did, Haz.” Louis seems disturbed that Harry would suggest otherwise. That Louis would just hear about Harry hurting himself and finding a way to displace the responsibility. He shakes his head, backing away. “But I dunno what to make for brekkie, so you’ll have to help with that.”

+

They fall back into an easy rhythm after that. No courting business, is all. At least that seems to be their unspoken agreement, with Louis keeping his distance and avoiding the topic of courting. It’s not like Harry would have anything to share anyway, having rescheduled his date with Alfie until his face fully heals. But he can’t very well just drop that into conversation, can he? And without that being out in the open, it certainly feels like Harry needs to keep his hands off of Louis. 

They haven’t explicitly agreed that they should stop messing around, but Harry still feels like he needs to keep his hands off of Louis. A simple friendly hug could easily morph into a tight squeeze, his face burrowed in Louis’ neck. Harry barely has any control of his hands; he’d probably end up picking at Louis’ arm only to slide his hands down onto Louis’ so they could twine their fingers together. 

Gosh, the thought alone gives Harry a physical reaction, heartbeat stuttering maddeningly. He was uncomfortable with how naturally the thought came to him.

It doesn’t help that they mostly hang out in private because Harry’s not too keen on stepping outside with his smashed up face. Aside from lectures and work, he keeps his head down and doesn’t go out, to Niall’s great displeasure. They have lunch at the shop when Louis comes to pick up his bike, and that alone has Jeff narrowing his eyes suspiciously at them when Harry closes the door to the backroom. 

Louis has seemed fine with their arrangement, though, happy to stay in with Harry and catching up on Gogglebox and supervising his cooking. Until now, that is, when Louis begs for Harry to come with to a footie game, saying the fresh air will do them good.

“I’m disfigured,” Harry complains. His face has gotten a lot better, but he’d still rather just stay in with Louis. Both of them occupying their respective corner of the sofa, Harry very determinedly not glancing Louis’ direction each time a laugh bursts forth. It might actually be easier to be in public and not having to worry about keeping his hands and stares to himself, but. Then they’d be stepping out of their private bubble. 

“It’s temporary, looks about like you stopped someone’s fist with your face, that’s brave that. Nothing else ‘nyone can say about it.”

“It’s going to leave marks, ‘m sure.” Harry pouts exaggeratedly. He pushes his fingertips against the scab on his forehead. “It’ll scar and I’ll be disfigured.”

Louis makes a show of gasping, and pushing at Harry’s good shoulder. Harry doesn’t even try not to laugh.

“So?” Louis sighs, getting closer. He lifts the side of his fringe from his face. “See this cut? Just above my eyebrow? Me face looked worse than yours then. You saying I’m disfigured now because ‘ve got a scar?”

“No…” Harry rolls his eyes. 

“We can do me up too, if you like.” Louis tips his chin up, offering up his face. Harry can’t help the incredulous laugh that boils out of him. _As if._ “We can be like a band of delinquents rolling in.”

“Or we can watch the match here. Niall set us up with sports channels, should be able to make use of those too.”

“And miss out on the shouting? The adrenaline rush that comes from each goal that just--” Louis’ forehead furrows as he tries to find the right word, “--makes everyone just vibrate?”

Louis is practically vibrating now, just talking about it, and it’s with little reluctance that Harry agrees to go. Harry brings a scarf with him, the bright red fabric helping him blend into the crowd. He still stands out a bit, but he doesn’t even care that people are staring at him more than normal. Not when Louis’ arm is slung low around his waist, leading him to their seats in the stands. It’s the first time they’ve touched properly since, well, _before_ and it feels just right.

+

There’s another Alpha House party, a weekend after Harry’s face starts to look better. There’s still some swelling around his eyebrow, and if he brushes his hair too rigourously his head starts to sting but other than that, he’s splendid. He might even avoid scarring altogether, a matter that hasn’t escaped Louis’ teasing as he claims he’ll be the only disfigured one there, since Harry’s face is healing so nicely with no scars in sight. 

Harry doesn’t have anything to say back, the urge to correct Louis that his face is perfect as it is too strong, so he just keeps mum.

Louis pretends the party is the Back To School rager that Harry missed because they weren’t back to normal when that one actually happened. 

Because this is normal, apparently. Louis telling Harry that he can bring his beta boyfriend if he likes, and Harry choking on his spit, unable to correct him. It’s normal for Louis to greet Harry and Niall and Bressie -- whom Harry invites, instead-- with a brief wave before being pulled away from them. 

Harry knows he shouldn’t complain. Louis is one of the hosts of the party. His attention is needed elsewhere. And-- he doesn’t owe Harry anything, really. Perhaps he’d told Harry to bring a date because he himself would be occupied, eyes on some fresh omega arse. 

It seems more and more likely as Harry watches a ginger bloke with a gaunt face press against Louis across the room. He’s not being pushed away; Louis welcoming him and pulling him in closer by the shoulder. Harry’s jaw aches with how hard he’s clenching, teeth biting down on air. 

“Bit glum, aren’t you? Need more drinks?” Bressie’s voice snaps Harry out of his angry pout, and he directs his gaze at him and Niall. “You’re low aren’t you? Need me to fetch more?” Bressie asks Niall where he sits, perched over a chair. 

“Halfway there, but I can sweep it if you’re going for another round,” Niall answers with a wink. “Think Harry should take care of himself though. Can’t be stuck with us all night, right, H?”

“Don’t see why not,” Harry mutters, pulling at the label on his bottle. The paper thin, breaking apart unders his fingertips.

Bressie nods from side to side. “Niall’s right, how’re you planning on finding some fresh alpha meat if you just stick with the ol’ mated couple?” 

Niall’s face scrunches up at Bressie’s words, as if it’s a phrase they’ve been using a lot, and normally Harry would prod further at the choice of words except-- “What do you mean?”

Bressie waves his bottle around, jaw clicking. “You know with your list and all that.”

“My list.” Harry turns to Niall whose eyes are wide, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “Niall. Why does he know about the list?”

“Oh, I--” Niall starts, but Harry doesn’t let him finish. He’s quick to his feet and pulls Niall from his chair, towards one of the empty nooks behind the stairs. It’s bad enough that Bressie knows enough to know that there’s a list at all, he’s not going to let Niall off the hook that easy. And just because Bressie knows, doesn’t mean Harry wants to speak in front of him.

“I asked you not to tell anyone.” 

“Bressie’s not _anyone,_ yeah? We talk about everything.” Niall’s face is pleading and he looks nearly offended that he’s being put on the spot and just-- how is this possible, really?

“And what, it just came up? What’s the right date number for sharing your friends’ secrets? Or does that wait until you’ve got a promise ring on?” Niall flinches, fingers tightening around his cup. “I guess you’re not there yet, are you?” Harry spits out and Niall shakes his head, an almost bitter laugh spilling out.

“Bloody hell, Haz. You think he didn’t notice that Louis disappeared? Had to warn him not to bring it up.”

“Great job he’s doing with not bringing it up,” Harry says and Niall shakes his head. 

“You’re the one who took us here. Christ knows why. You’re not talking to Louis, or to anyone else. It’s like your bloody list is just an excuse not to get close to anyone.”

Harry smiles, mouth pulling at the corners. It’s amazing, how clever Niall thinks he is. How he’s got just the answer for everything. Like everything is as easy as finding someone you like and courting and then mating. Just because his life’s dandy doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone. “You’ve got all the answers, don’t you?” 

Niall shrugs, seemingly not registering the bile in Harry’s voice. “S’what it looks like.”

Harry laughs at that, but it’s not enough, each of his nerves fighting the urge to explode. He presses his fist against the wall. That’s the point, he reminds himself, to not care about what it looks like. So why are Niall’s words threaded needles borrowing under his skin, tugging at it enough that he might explode?

The worst part is Niall seems perfectly unaffected. He pushes against Harry’s shoulder, tipping his glass. “‘M going to get more beer. You figure out what the game plan is and I’ll assist, yeah?” 

Niall doesn’t wait for Harry to agree or nod before leaving, as if it’s a given that Harry would take his help. As if Harry would even want it. He takes a deep breath through his nose, fist still pressed against the wall. 

By his second deep breath, Harry notices a bloke trying to eye him up from a distance. All that’s needed is a second of eye contact before he starts towards Harry with a nod.

“Twenty-ones?” The bloke asks, wide broad smile covering his face. He has a proper beard, but a bright young face, his hand outstretched for Harry to take.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says, taking it before he has a chance to overthink it. He’s acutely aware that the bloke is pulling Harry in the direction of the lounge, which is where he last saw Louis. He can’t decide whether he wants Louis to be there so he’s forced to watch Harry flirt with this bloke, or if he dreads seeing Louis flirt with someone else. 

Harry keeps his eyes trained on Bearded Bloke’s hand as he pulls Harry along, and then on the spot on the table right in front of him as he takes a seat. From the way the back of his neck prickles he can bet Louis is in the room. He’d try to scent him if he didn’t know it was a moot point. 

Bearded Bloke slides an unopened can of cider in front of him, and he cracks it open, keeping his eyes trained on the tab. He can hear the count going on around the table, the game already in effect by the time they joined. 

“Ten,” Bearded Bloke says, and presses his fingers against Harry’s wrist. An indication that it’s his turn, and a simultaneously show of dominance from the way he presses, pinning Harry’s wrist to the table. Harry pulls it away from the touch, uneasily, meeting Bearded Bloke’s insistent gaze.

“Eleven,” Harry says, and Bearded Bloke’s mouth drops open. 

“Three in a row!” Someone at the end of the table shouts, and quickly all the others start chanting the same thing. Their voices bring Harry’s gaze up around him, and he scans the participants, trying to see who he might recognize. Of course, his eyes get caught on Louis instead, leaning against the door jamb. 

He’s still got the Ginger Bloke from earlier close by, elbow on top of Louis’ shoulder. Their attention has been caught by the chanting, and Harry grits his teeth and being put on the spot like this. 

Bearded Bloke’s chair squeaks as he pushes closer to Harry, his beard brushing against Harry’ jaw as he leans in close to speak into his ear. He says, “You’ve got to drink up since you broke the rules.” He pulls back with a smile, eyebrows quirking as he takes a sip of his own drink.

He didn’t have to get so close, didn’t have to whisper in Harry’s ear like that, but he was probably trying to make an impression. Still, Harry glances at his fresh can, fingers closing around it and proceeds to stare Louis down as he swallows down all the beer he can. There’s some gathering at the corner of his mouth, dripping down his chin, but he doesn’t care. 

Ginger Bloke pulls away from Louis, catching his attention and it’s like the beer Harry’s been drinking turns acidic in his gut. Watching Louis turn away from him, and leave the room following some bloke who’s as close to being Harry’s polar opposite it’s laughable.

Bearded Bloke makes a move to wipe the beer dribbling down Harry’s chin and he flinches before he’s even touched. 

“Thanks,” he mutters, leaving his empty can behind as he gets up. 

It wasn’t part of his plan, but Harry has to follow Louis. He has to see where the Ginger leads him, if it’s to the impromptu dance floor in the lounge, to the back garden for a smoke, or up the stairs to one of the rooms. At least then Harry’ll know where he really stands.

He doesn’t see Louis anywhere downstairs and glancing up the staircase he wonders if it’s worth heading up. It’s not like he can dramatically open the door to every bedroom. What would he even do if he found Louis and Ginger? Wish them luck? Toss them a condom as an apology for interrupting in the first place?

He should probably just find Niall and Bressie again, and give up for tonight. Bearded Bloke was too pushy, and Louis is otherwise occupied. He can almost feel the bile rising to his throat, and he climbs the stairs in a hurry, heading towards the bathroom.

Harry’s only just turned the knob before the door opens and he’s faced with Louis. Alone. 

“Bored with the game already? Looked like you were having a good time,” Louis comments, shouldering his way past Harry, as if he plans on just leaving him.

Harry can’t believe it. “A good time? How am I supposed to make friends while you're practically being mounted in front of me?" Harry tries to keep his voice down, but he knows the bite is there. Louis isn’t having it, chin tucked close to his throat as he looks up at Harry through his eyelashes.

Any other time it would be seductive, but now he just looks indignant. There’s a challenge in Louis’ voice when he says, “Not sure that choice of words is appropriate.” 

Harry can feel his cheeks flush in response. Right. Alphas do the mounting, how could he possibly forget that? He keeps his voice even as he speaks, “If it quacks like a duck.”

Louis laughs in response, pinching his nose and shaking his head. He steps away from the door, and Harry follows. He seems to have expected it, because he speaks without turning around. “I could say the same about you.”

It stops Harry in his tracks and his jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

The frustration tickles at the base of his throat. He knows, logically, that he has no right to ask Louis to stop when he was doing the same thing, flirting with someone else. But still. It’s like Louis’ doing it on purpose, trying to rile Harry up.

Louis turns around at that, letting his weight drop against the wall. He sighs, pressing his fingers against his temple before his eyes slip closed. "Harry, you're the one who said you wanted to get more experience. With others. You’ve already got one beta on the hook, and now you’re upset that I'm not stopping you?” Harry’s heart almost beats out of his chest at those words. He can’t know, can he? Niall is the only one who knows. Harry swallows his defense down, not wanting to give himself away. Louis continues, “Get those notches on your bedpost for all I care. But you can't complain when I talk to other people.” 

“It wasn’t just talking,” Harry mutters, as a massive blush comes on. If only Louis knew that he was the only notch Harry has; that he's the only one that matters in any way so far. What would he say then?

It looks like Louis’ about to roll his eyes, but he manages to stop himself before speaking again, “You’re the one that wanted this, you know.” Louis says, softly. As if he’s the one aching. As if he’s not the one who’s spent the whole party attached at the hip with some skinny Ginger. Who’s probably just waiting for him in some dark corner with his legs spread. 

Harry nods fiercely, and he’s got his breath back, albeit shallow and painful, logic taking residence into his brain again. Christ, why does he have to let himself get carried away like this? He’s barely three drinks in, can’t blame the alcohol. 

He stares at the floor in shame, clenching his jaw. “You’re right.”

He can feel the weight of Louis’ arm over his shoulders, comforting him. “If you wanted me right now, you could have me. You know that, Harry.”

Harry burrows his stare into the side of Louis’ head. 

Louis continues, “It doesn’t matter to me that you were practically being scented in public. You could’ve had his tongue down your throat for all I cared. If you came to me after, you could have me. You can always have me Harry.”

Harry just doesn’t understand it, how he can be so open with what he wants. It just does Harry in, hearing those words. He must be close to collapsing, dizzy with want. Why is he so weak when it comes to Louis? He’s lost interest in all the other lads he’s tried to get it together with. But Louis just speaks, just offers himself up like it’s the easiest thing in the world and it’s all Harry can do not to lay down and tell Louis he can have him all. He’s only had two drinks in him and Louis’ scent is overpowering him. He’s not even doing anything, just gently steadying Harry and clasping his shoulder. How can Louis say stuff like that without just breaking apart? Hearing it alone is making Harry feel like his chest has been cracked open, the hunger in his pulse making him vibrate with need. He feels hot and cold at the same time, nose flaring, trying to get more air into his lungs.

Louis must pick up on it, concern lacing his voice as he asks, “Harry, y’alright? Do you need some air?” He moves to direct them downstairs, but Harry pushes against his shoulders, hands fisting Louis’ shirt.

“No I-- I need you. You said I could have you so. Yes.” Louis’ eyes narrow as he searches Harry’s face. “Please,” Harry adds and that seems to do the trick. Louis nods and gently steers Harry in the direction of his room. The lights are off, and it’s empty.

Harry doesn’t wait for Louis’ hands to guide him, he stumbles his way onto the bed, watching as Louis flips on the string of lights by his door. Harry remembers suggesting them to Louis, saying he needed something in between the reading lamp and the ceiling light. And Louis went out and got it, apparently.

It bathes the room in a soft golden hue, and Harry watches Louis approach the bed slowly. He straddles one of Harry’s thighs, slotting his own tight against Harry’s groin. It’s enough to make Harry gasp, he tips his head up, asking for a kiss. He doesn’t care about the list right now, not with Louis’ weight on him, his mouth hot against his. His tongue is pressing carefully into Harry’s mouth like he wants to savour the taste and the feel. Harry can’t help but suck at it, wanting more. All he wants is to blow Louis. To feel his cock heavy and twitching in his mouth. He wants to taste him, get to the very essence of that it is that’s driving Harry to madness.

“Louis,” Harry breathes, as Louis still rubs his thighs against Harry’s growing erection. Harry has to stop himself from grinding into it. He’s a man on a mission, after all. He knows he can come like this, and he knows that Louis must think this is what he wants, because they’ve never done anything beyond just using their hands. “Louis, stop.”

Louis goes still immediately. Gently pushing Harry over, so he’s laying on his side and Louis faces him. His throat clicks as he swallows. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Don’t want that, want to--” Harry licks his lip instinctively. “Want to suck you please.”

“You sure? I know you don’t want--”

“I’m sure.” Louis still seems hesitant, and so Harry takes the lead. His finger undoing Louis’ flies easily, and gliding his jeans down over his hips. “Unless you don’t want to?” Harry has to ask because he hasn’t even considered it. But it’s something to think about, isn’t it? Harry’s been the one leading the pace since the beginning, it’s certainly possible that he’s crossed a line.

“Oh, love,” Louis breathes out, voice creaky, fingers cradling Harry’s head. His words are a balm along Harry’s worried skin. “I do want to, I really do.” He catches Harry's lips in his before letting out a hungry moan in his mouth. Harry’s hands have found Louis’ cock, and he fists it, feeling his mouth water at the weight. Louis twitches against his fingers, a slick drop of precome hitting Harry’s fingers.

He can’t wait. He has to pull away from Louis, licking his lips. They already feel swollen, and from the way Louis’ eyes drop to his mouth, he knows he must make quite a sight.

“Don’t think I’ll last long, Haz.”

“S’alright just want,” Harry starts but doesn’t finish. He’s maneuvered himself down Louis’ prone body and he wraps his lips around the tip of Louis’ cock. He’s still holding on to the rest of it, not quite sure exactly how to fit it all in his mouth. His tongue circles the crown, licking around Louis’ foreskin and he suckles until he can taste his precome. 

It’s a heady taste when it reached his senses, and Harry moans along. He has to squeeze himself. He’d had no idea that sucking someone off would get him so worked up, but then again it’s Louis.

It’s Louis who has been his kryptonite ever since he first laid eyes on him. 

Somehow Harry’s managed to undo his own trousers, the fabric straining uncomfortably around his knees. He’s pulling at himself in time with his own licks. Briefly, he manages to slip his mouth just more than halfway down Louis’ cock and his mouth feels so full. He can’t even imagine what it would be like to have Louis’ cock _inside_ of him, locked in his arse. And still the thought makes him leak. He can smell himself stinking up the room at the thought alone, and he rubs his legs desperately as his slick seeps between his arse cheeks, wetting the back of his thighs.

Louis must sense it too, because his breathing goes ragged. His voice is higher than normal when he speaks, “Hazza, how are you-- are you enjoying it?” He sounds almost incredulous and his cock pulses as Harry tries to swallow around it.

Harry pulls off, and if it wasn’t for how obviously turned on Louis was,he’d probably be embarrassed. As it is, he’s not too worried about his slick, although he’s worried about the thought that brought it on. That he’d want Louis to fuck him and claim him. That’s too much, much too soon.

“I love it,” he slurs out and Louis mouth drops open more. “It’s making me so wet,” he adds, and Louis’ eyes roll back in his head.

“Harry, love, please, can I feel it?” Louis asks so gently and it’s not… It’s not something Harry even thought about, but he can feel his arse clenching at the thought of Louis’ fingers. He reflexively squeezes his fingers around Louis’ cock as he keeps jerking him.

“I want to finish, though. Want to feel you coming in my mouth.”

“Oh, fuck,” Louis blurts out and bucks into Harry’s touch. He almost feels high, having Louis at his mercy like this. “We can do both, you just got to… Got to turn around. Straddle my chest.”

Harry blinks and inhales sharply. They could do both. He nods eagerly, and tries to get his trousers off all the way. He notices Louis taking the opportunity to take off his shirt, and yeah, good idea. He takes off his as well, and now they’re both completely naked, save for the sheen of sweat that’s covering them both, a fog of their combined scents making Harry’s breathing ragged.

Harry has never wanted anyone more, and it terrifies him. Still he moves, because he can’t not. He can’t have Louis staring at him like he is and not give him everything he asks for. And he does ask, “Harry, do you want to?”

And the answer is so blatantly yes Harry can feel more slick wetting his arse. And Louis wants to touch it. God.

“Yes, yes,” he chants as he climbs onto Louis, slipping his thigh over Louis’ shoulders and straddling his chest. With a new angle on Louis’ cock, Harry doesn’t waste time slipping his mouth over it again. This way he can also easily press his fingertips against Louis’ sac, just making his presence known. Louis moans eagerly behind him, and Harry can feel each nervous twitch.

Louis fingers grip his arse cheeks, pulling him open, and Harry wants to gag with how exposed he feels. From the way Louis keeps shivering under him though, Harry knows that he’s happy. What he’s seeing is doing something for him and Harry can feel himself getting even harder, hole clenching around air. 

That is, until he feels Louis’ thumb pressing against him, rubbing gently over his rim. He loses his rhythm, and the moment that Louis touches him, Harry just holds his cock in his mouth. He doesn’t dare to move at all, his arse feeling hot and exposed and on every nerve screaming that it’s not enough. Eventually the touching stops, and there’s a slick sound followed by a moan, Louis’ entire chest vibrating with it. Louis must be tasting Harry. 

He can’t handle it, so he keeps sucking Louis harder. He uses his hand to help him out, and he watches eagerly as Louis’ thighs twitch in front of him. He can feel Louis’ knot expanding at the bottom of his fist. Louis’ whole body is shuddering, rebelling just because Harry’s touching him. Just because he’s touching Harry. 

It’s the ultimate power rush, and Harry presses his tongue hard against the slit of Louis’ cock before he feels Louis coming. He uses his hand to press down on Louis’ knot, making sure it doesn’t pop all the way, keeping it throbbing at the base. Hot spurts land against the roof of his mouth. Startling him to the point that he pulls off before slipping his mouth around the head of his cock again, suckling until there was no more coming. 

“Oh my god,” Harry mutters, his head now dropped onto Louis’ thigh. Louis’ cock is still swollen, knot angry and red at the base of his cock. “Does it hurt?” he asks, almost panicked as he presses tentative fingers to his knot.

“Christ no,” Louis says, and he seems to remember he has Harry’s arse in front of his face. “How could I hurt with this in front of me.” 

“Oh.” He can feel Louis’ finger pressing against him again, this time rubbing intently around his hole.

“You still okay with me touching?” Louis asks. “Can’t believe you made me come first. ‘Ve got to make it up to you.” He presses a gentle kiss against the back of Harry’s thigh and the intimacy brings tears to Harry’s eyes. He’s so bloody gone for Louis, he can hardly handle it. 

“Yeah,” Harry thinks he manages to respond, and he loses his breath again when Louis’ finger actually pushes inside. It’s so odd- so different from his own fingers. The angle, possibly, but just knowing it’s Louis, actually him pushing his finger in and out because _he wants to_ , he wants Harry like this, regardless of anything. He just wants Harry however he can have him.

“How’s that, love, too much?” Louis asks and he briefly crooks his finger, grazing against Harry’s prostate. 

“So good,” Harry slurs. He wants more. “More.”

“Okay, but ‘m taking it slow, alright?” Louis says, and just as a second finger joins the first, his other hand smooths over his arse. It’s a long caress, and it doesn’t end until he’s midway down Harry’s thigh.

“Mmm,” Harry moans softly, each touch sending shivers down his spine. He wants to rock his cock along Louis’ chest but he also just wants to be taken care of. He wants to let Louis decide what should happen next.

“You feel amazing, d’you know that? God. How many times have you heard that,” Louis adds, and there’s a sting to his voice. Harry can’t quite place it in his haze, but he takes the question seriously.

“Never, never heard it.”

“ _Baby,_ ” and now Louis sounds incredulous. “You’re the most gorgeous-- do you know how amazing you smell, you taste?”

Harry shakes his head, his hair rubbing against Louis’ thighs and hips.

“Harry you need to know. I don’t understand how anyone could be with you and _not_ tell you. You’re the most-- I don’t even have words.”

“Yeah?” Is all Harry can get out somehow his mind lost to the feeling of Louis rubbing intently against his spot. His nerves are humming, his pulse beating in time. He can feel himself approaching the cliff, can feel the drop coming.

Harry pants hotly against Louis’ skin, and Louis takes is as an encouragement. His fingers are going so fast, crooking mercilessly against the place he feels it the most. His entire body feels alight, and Harry wishes he could have more. He almost wants to ask for another finger, but Louis is in a daze, murmuring about how amazing Harry is, and how stunning, and fit, and hot, and perfect and. Well Harry doesn’t want him to stop. 

Even if it means nothing. Even if Louis probably has said this to tens of omegas before him. At this moment it feels true, it feels real. Louis means it. Harry knows he means it. He shoots off over Louis’ chest and belly, just as Louis kisses the back of his thigh again.

He collapses easily, his weight pushing all the air from Louis as it’s brought down on him.

“Y’alright?” Louis asks, his fingers now pushing alongside Harry’s hips. He gently nudges him over so he lays on his side. 

“Messy,” Harry comments, staring up into the ceiling. 

“I’ll clean you up,” Louis says and ambles off of the bed. Harry watches him go, head dangling over the edge of the mattress. When Louis is out of sight, Harry scrambles so that his head is resting against one of the pillows. He brings his hands to his face, wanting to scream in delight. He can’t believe he actually did that. They did that. And he feels bloody amazing. 

The bed dips and Harry brings his hands down to find Louis frowning at him. “You sure you’re okay, Haz?” The endearment nestled itself beneath Harry’s ribs and he nods eagerly.

“M’just tired.” Harry watches as Louis wipes him down, having taken care of his own mess in the loo. 

“You can stay the night if you want,” Louis says and he bites down on his lip. “Actually was gonna ask if you wanted to anyway. Thought maybe we could do brunch.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, weakly. “Yeah that sounds nice.”

“Okay,” Louis says, and it’s with a blinding smile. He doesn’t get up to toss the dirty flannel, dropping it somewhere by the bed. Into a rubbish bin of some sort, Harry hoped absentmindedly. 

Louis fits himself against Harry’s back, and Harry melts into it. “There’s some spares clothes in the bottom drawer, ‘f you get cold. Need some socks or some pants. Or another pair of joggers.”

“A whole drawer?” 

Louis squeezes him tighter. “Just in case you get cold, yeah? Don’t hesitate. Want to take care of you.”

The words slip into Harry’s conscious, but he’s so close to drifting off he doesn't’ quite register them. He nods dumbly, and shivers as Louis’ breath puffs warm against his ear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, huge thanks if you gave this a shot <3 this fic has been a wip for so long I'm so happy that it's done and out there. It's really super self-indulgent so I hope others have found it enjoyable so don't hesitate to let me know if you like it. There might be a rut/heat ficlet in this verse coming if people are interested.
> 
> Also shoutout to Nina for a smut scene suggestion that made it in there. Always looking to up my smut game, so I appreciate it.

Louis insists on preparing his signature Tommo Brunch for Harry entirely on his own, pushing him back into bed and covering him with blankets when he offers to help out. Louis says, “You can shower if you want, use the telly, but this is my treat, yeah? Just relax.” 

He punctuates his instructions with a forehead kiss. It sets the tone, the intimacy rooting its way into Harry’s chest. He watches Louis leave, clad only in fresh boxers with a dreamy smile on his face. 

He takes up the offer of the shower, taking his time to scrub down with Louis’ shower gel-- not quite the version of Louis’ scent he wants to be covered in, but a good second best-- and steaming up the bathroom, drawing patterns onto the foggy mirror. 

As welcoming as Louis has been, Harry still feels a bit odd wandering about the Alpha House on his own, and he tiptoes back to the room on light feet when he hears commotion from downstairs. It could just be Louis mucking about in the kitchen, but he’s not quite sure. 

He rifles through the drawer that Louis offered him the previous night, and finds a pair of boxer shorts that fit. They’re a bit snug, but not uncomfortably so. He’s in the middle of putting his hair up in a towel when the door cracks open, and Louis peers inside. His mouth quirks as he asks, “Shower good?”

Harry nods. He thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, and feels a thrill at the way Louis’ eyes follow the motion. “Thanks for these.” 

Louis nods, his gaze lingering long enough that Harry thinks brunch might be cancelled for another go. But Louis’ teeth pull at his top lip and he clears his throat. “Waffles, toast or pancakes?” 

“Waffles.”

Louis knocks on the doorframe in acknowledgment before pulling away. “You can come down if you want, just. No touching the food ‘til I say so.” His eyebrows arch with each word, underscoring how serious he is about it. 

Louis doesn’t seem concerned about staying quiet, bounding down the stairs with energy. 

Harry’s not sure what he expects, but it’s not an empty kitchen with evidence of only Louis having puttered about. Egg carton on the counter, plated bacon and sausages sizzling in the pan. At the very least he thought the dishes would be piled high from all the ravenous As and their guests.

Louis seems to detect his surprise and explains, “Most everyone’s out ‘lready or like. Sleep like the dead, the lot of them.”

Louis pats a cleared section of the counter. “You can sit here if you want to supervise.” 

“So that’s allowed, is it?”

Harry follows direction, heaving himself up and digging his heels against the cabinets. Louis offers him a mug of tea, still steaming. He must’ve waited for the kettle to be done before coming up to find Harry. Harry blows on his tea, trying to collect himself. 

“Could always use another set of eyes to make sure I don’t burn meself, yeah.”

“So no one else has brekkie around here?” 

Louis pulls a box of frozen waffles from the freezer, popping two into the toaster. “Nah, told you, they like to sleep in. Avoid the clean-up.”

“But what about everyone else who spent the night? They can’t all be late sleepers.” Surely there’s more than him...right? Isn’t that what would happen after a blowout at an Alpha House?

Louis shakes his head, pulling out a can of whipped cream and a bottle of chocolate sauce. “I think Cal’s mate probably stayed. They’re probably still in bed, though.”

It looks like Louis’ is avoiding to tell Harry something and that just won’t do. “Is that unusual?” Harry asks, prodding further, and Louis flips the eggs in the pan, pressing the spatula against them. “Thought lots of people would stay over.”

“Um.” Louis scratches the back of his neck. The waffles pop up right then, and when it looks like Louis will use those as a reason not to answer, Harry grabs them, dropping one on each plate.

“What?”

“Right so. Technically. We’re not allowed to have overnight guests unless like...we’re actually courting?”

Whatever Harry expected to hear, it wasn’t that. “Oh.”

“I’m not like. I know what you said, before, I just. I didn’t want you to have to go home alone. ‘M guessing your friends left together, yeah? They seemed pretty tied up.”

“But the drawer…”

Louis shrugs. The care with which he plates the eggs is calculated. He seems hyper aware of his movements, like he might scare Harry off any second. “D’you want some ketchup? Or hot sauce?” He asks, eyebrows turned upward.

“Hot sauce works, yeah,” Harry answers. He’s not really sure what to think, but he’s not as off-put as he probably should be. “Won’t you get into trouble if someone finds out?”

A tray has been plated with their food and Louis’ mug of tea, and Louis carries it gingerly towards the door. “We’ll just have to make sure they don’t find out, I guess. Never did like playing by the rules ‘nyway.”

They crawl back into bed, sitting cross-legged with their meals plated between them. Harry seems to spill bacon crumbs over the bed, but instead of snapping, Louis just shakes out the sheets as best he can while they remain seated, nearly dropping his full mug of tea into his lap and making Harry howl with laughter. 

Louis makes no effort to get out of bed when he finishes, falling back against the duvet and lazily watching Harry continue to munch on his waffle. Harry’s not sure if it’s because the windows are closed and Louis’ scent is amplified, but he can feel himself melting into a pleasant haze. The tea is heavy on his tongue, and he tries to absorb all the small changes in Louis’ room since he’d last been there, having not been able to focus on any of it the night before. There’s a new Green Day poster plastered to the wall, a Stone Roses shirt hanging off the bookcase, a footie schedule next to it covered in red scribbles. The desk that had been covered with laundry and snacks a couple months back is now littered with a mess of papers on the verge of toppling over. It’s not a lot of changes, but it’s still something. He wonders briefly how many people have been privy to the changes as they happened. Especially if they’re not supposed to have sleepovers… it can’t be that many. 

“Do you… do this a lot then?” Harry has to ask.

“What?” Louis leans down, putting his mug on the floor, scooting closer.

“Said you don’t like playing by the rules, so like--” Harry swallows. He’s not sure how to ask without sounding entitled but. He casts his gaze down, not wanting to be met with ridicule or pity. He doesn’t have a chance to actually get the question out before Louis interrupts, though.

“You mean do I have a lot of sleepovers? No. That’s not-- that drawer’s for you, yeah?” 

“Right.”

“Had all my socks in there before and like, chargers. No one else gets a drawer. Has to be worth breaking the rules for,” Louis says, close to a whisper. Harry’s almost certain he’s heard it wrong. He drinks the rest of his tea, a too big swallow nearly getting stuck in his throat along with the bloody feelings he’s trying to choke down. 

When Harry faces Louis again he has _that look_. Like he wants to possess Harry, or something. It prickles against the back of Harry’s neck, over his shoulders. He wants to slump them and burrow into it. 

“You keep looking at me like that.” Harry’s toes curl in the sheets. He feels surprisingly lax but that must be the effect of Louis’ scent on him. Just being in Louis’ bed makes him want to melt into it so he can absorb as much of it as possible. 

Louis’ eyes narrow minutely, and his fingers elegantly pluck at Harry’s loose fringe. “Like what?”

“Like you want to kiss me,” Harry says, tongue sweeping over his lip. It feels like far more than that, but admitting that he can decipher Louis’ expression feels like admitting he wants the same thing. And he’s just not ready, or willing to admit that yet; he couldn’t possibly handle Louis’ response to his real interpretation. Good or bad, it would crush him.

“I do.” Louis smiles wickedly, nudging his nose against Harry’s. His scent fills the room, rich and heady, and Harry wants to wrap himself in it. He bridges the gap between them, barely brushing his lips over Louis’. 

“Why?” Harry asks, lips grazing Louis’ as he speaks.

“You’re addictive.”

Harry can’t respond to that, a pang of unbridled desire flickering through him. He presses in, opening his mouth wide as soon as Louis’ tongue nudges it. 

“I really”--Louis stills, carefully licking his lips--“Really want to taste you.”

“You have,” Harry whispers, fighting a tremble. “You are right now, aren’t you?” Louis pulls back, just enough to move the leftover plates from the duvet and stacking them on the bedside table. Christ, he doesn’t know what Louis wants to do to him but he’d let himself over entirely to Louis if that’s what he wants. 

“Mhm, that tea just made me forget what you taste like,” Louis says before sucking at a patch of Harry’s skin. Harry kicks out at the feeling, duvet falling away and getting bunched up under his legs. Louis’ mouth marks a path south along the side of his belly. It almost tickles, and Harry bucks into the touch. 

Louis pushes down Harry’s pants, clever fingers pulling them all the way off. Harry expects it when Louis’ mouth closes around the head of his cock, and still he gasps. The wet heat, the slurping sound of Louis trying to fit all of him in his mouth as he hums. It’s enough to make mouth stay open as he pants, trying not to come on the spot.

He even expects it when Louis noses along his sac, the tender skin being sucked into Louis’ mouth. Harry’s legs twitch, and the intimacy make him squeeze them tightly together. “Sorry,” he mutters as Louis laughs and pries them apart again. 

“Okay?” Louis asks, palm smoothing over the top of Harry’s thighs. Harry nods eagerly, and Louis’ eyes glint. 

“Reflex. You can, uh-- You can keep them open if you have to.”

“If I have to, yeah?” Louis smirks, pressing dry kisses along the crease of Harry’s thigh, slowly opening his mouth to press teeth against skin. It’s not a bite, barely a scrape. His fist closes around Harry’s cock as he uses his other hand to bend Harry’s knees.

Harry’s so wet already, he must look a right mess. But Louis just gets closer, not put off somehow. Harry’s wracked with a shudder when Louis’ lips touch his hole. He’s actually holding Harry open, tongue lapping at the slick that coats the skin. Harry jaw stretches open. He’s running out of air, unable to hold a breath in for long before it stutters back out.

He can feel himself pulsing against Louis’ mouth. “Lou--Louis.”

“‘S wrong?” Louis’ voice is clear, the stark concern in it evident. 

“Is that-- Do you--?” He’s not even sure what he want to ask. He feels Louis’ hands spreading his thighs wider and all he can do is whine in approval. Fucking hell. 

Louis’ thumb presses the spot below Harry’s sac, massage nerves Harry didn’t even know he had. “Do you like it?”

“That’s-- a massive under-- ”Harry arches his back as Louis presses a finger inside. His tongue slips around it, laving around Harry’s rim and licking up all his slick. His never ending stream of slick. “--statement.” 

Harry’s pleased that he managed such a big word in the moment, but that seems to backfire on Louis as he doubles down his efforts, sucking at the sensitive skin. 

It’s enough to have Harry’s mind garbled as his nerves fizzle. His legs don’t want to close anymore-- one slipping off the bed as he tries to spread wider. There’s a low keening sound coming from his own throat as he feels the tip of Louis’ tongue pushing against his hole, pressing inside. 

Everything is narrowed down to the very centre of him, he presses his hand against his neglected cock, but even that doesn’t distract him from the slurping and humming coming from between his legs. 

He can hear Louis slur, “So good,” as if he’s just as overwhelmed as Harry is. It’s not possible though; it can’t be. Louis still seems to have control of his limbs, his short nails raking along the outside of Harry’s thigh, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. 

Harry, well, he can only identify particular instances of touch, too overwhelmed. He’s aware of Louis’ finger pushing into him, trembling as it rubs his insides. His hips flexing at the insistent press against his spot. 

“Lou--”

“S’it too much?” Louis asks without withdrawing. Harry looks down, only to be faced with Louis’ messy face. His mouth and chin shiny with slick. He licks his mouth, rendering Harry completely speechless.

“Uh.” Harry presses his hand against his cock. It’s painfully hard, swollen red and leaking at the tip. He’s nearly drooling, too, just from watching Louis coated in his slick. A proper, beautiful mess.

“Haz?” 

“No, not it’s.” Harry swallows thickly, blinking with heavy eyelids. “It’s good.”

“Hmm, can do better than that…” Louis mutters, and without warning starts sucking along the inside of Harry’s thigh. It’s right along his pulse point, and Harry can feel himself going even laxer. His heartbeat is erratic, breathing sharp and uneven and his groin practically pulses with the need for relief. Yet, the rest of his body can hardly move. 

Louis hums happily as his teeth graze against the sensitive skin. “Smell so good, delicious,” he mumbles before starting to pump his finger again. He moves to lap at the slick that’s dripping out of Harry’s hole with every movement, and it’s all Harry can focus on. Each nerve ending lit up with the need for more, and Louis feeding that need. 

He’s distantly aware of the sound of Louis working himself over, grunts muffled from how deep his face is pressed against Harry’s arse. It makes Harry’s eyes roll back in his head. 

The only word to explain how he feels is high. He comes without much effort, hand a heavy, still weight against his cock. He watches as he spurts over his belly and chest. Small gasps punching out of his lungs. His thighs and arse clench, each muscle tensing at once. The only thing piercing his high, bringing him down to earth is the gentle bite of Louis’ teeth along the inside of his thighs. 

Harry watches as Louis leans down, nose still pressed closed to his arse as he strips his cock. He can’t see Louis’ face, but he can hear the strangled groan as he comes between them, a few spurts landing on one of Harry’s calves. 

Louis rubs it in, the come coating the side of his knee and shin, and it feels like a claim, as primitive as it is. Harry doesn't even care to protest, still reeling from the intensity of his own orgasm. His toes curl and he could easily go back to sleep, cocooned in everything _Louis_.

Fuck if it isn’t the best he’s ever felt in his life.

+

Harry’s rescheduled date with Alfie is fast approaching, and Harry’s nerves are in overdrive. It feels more like fear than excitement, and he it must be crap at hiding it because even Niall notices. 

Niall picks their weekly _Big Brother_ watching to corner him, but Harry can’t even blame him. On any other night Harry would rebuff Niall’s running commentary and try to argue for the contestants Niall hates, but this time he’s mum. With his arms crossed and chewing on the inside of his cheek, Harry feels the weight of his nerves enough that he thinks he may be denting the sofa more than usual.

“Spill.”

“What?” Harry asks, frowning. He’s still caught up in his head, trying to figure how he’s supposed to act on his date. Is he supposed to be direct about not really looking for something serious? Alfie is attractive, but the thought of having his arm slung around Harry’s shoulder, his breath against Harry’s neck… it makes him uncomfortable.

“You’re all jittery ‘bout something. D’you need me to call Louis for ya so ya can unwind?”

Harry blinks, his eyebrows shooting up. “That’s rich.”

“Are we pretending you didn’t spend the night with him after you chewed me out about wanting him? Sure seems like I was right about that.”

“That’s not what happened. I don’t--” Harry’s jaw tenses. He has to pick his battles. Collecting himself, he continues, “You shared my secret with Bressie. I still don’t think that was right.”

“Would you have rather explained to him yourself why you weren’t talking about Louis anymore? Why he wasn’t around?” Niall’s chin kept tucking closer to his chest with every word. 

“He wasn’t-- I didn’t talk about him that much.”

“Enough for Bres to notice, yeah.”

Well. It’s impossible for Harry to argue against that since he wouldn’t know. He doesn’t think that Niall would lie about that. But-- “Bressie wouldn’t have asked.”

“He asked me.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you're courting.”

“Right.” Niall’s eyes widen, like he’s waiting for Harry to get the point. Except Niall hasn’t made a point. 

“What?” 

Niall laughs and shakes his head. “You think it’s normal that he’d ask what’s going on with you, but you don’t think it’s normal for me to tell him?” He scoffs. “You’re cross about us having our crap together.”

Harry’s brows tenses, his left eye twitching. Why does Niall have to make sense?

“Let me get this right,” Niall says, eyes narrowed. “You’ve got access to Tommo and you’re still trying to fuck other people? Not sure about that reasoning, mate.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“S’weird, ‘cause I could’ve sworn you dropped an A that was going hard for you at that party just so you could follow Louis around.”

“That’s--” He’s not sure how Niall heard about that. He hadn’t been in the room which means it’s been talked about, at least to some extent. If the Bearded Bloke complained about it, it really feels like he dodged a bullet. He tries to set aside the slight alarm that rises in his chest at the thought of people talking about him and Louis behind his back.

“I still haven’t finished the list-- There’s one thing missing.” 

“Well, whatever it is ‘m sure he’d love to help out.” Harry’s face flushes at that, he’s quite certain that Niall’s able to guess which point on his list hasn’t been accomplished yet. And he can’t possibly imagine asking Louis for that. 

“It’s not that simple.”

Niall’s features crumple, a grimace taking over his face and his eyebrows knotting together. “Not sure I follow. From they way you go all”--he waves his hand about, making his eyes big as he blinks--“goo-goo eyed I get the feeling he’s treated ya well so far, yeah?”

Harry nods, nervously licking his lips. “But it’s not. I don’t think you’d ask Bressie, would you?”

“Don’t see why not,” Niall says with a shrug. Harry almost wants to point out that Niall doesn’t even know what it is he’d be asking about but he doesn’t want to go there. “S’not like it matters anyway.”

That’s probably the difference, but Harry doesn’t say. He can’t really, not without acknowledging the uncomfortable burn in his stomach that that’s not what his and Louis’ relationship is like. It’s fine. He’s good with what they’ve got, and he’s working around it.

+

The date isn’t a failure, really, but it is eye opening. It’s just that he doesn’t want to do this, this looking around for other people to check off items on a list. Maybe Niall has a point and he should talk to Louis about it. 

It’s bland enough that Harry wants to laugh at himself for ever being nervous. Alfie is an easy going lad, for sure, but that’s just it. He doesn’t seem to care one way or another about anything they’re doing. Harry’s amazed he got it together enough to even follow up on their post-poned date. 

Alfie had suggested they go one of his favourite restaurants-- a sushi place that Harry’d been to before and got food poisoning at. He makes sure to order only veggie rolls to stay safe, and Alfie seems more affected by that than anything else Harry says all night. He seems particularly keen in discussing how to cleanse your palate between different pieces of sushi and the best way to dunk them in soy sauce. It all falls on deaf ears as Harry continues to crunch on his avocado and cucumber rolls. 

Harry doesn’t allow Alfie to cover the tab, slapping down enough notes to cover his share. Despite that, Alfie suggests that they stop for dessert elsewhere. The suggestion startles Harry out of his thoughts for a bit, reminding him that this is, in fact, supposed to be a date. He feels so disconnected from Alfie physically and mentally that it’s been hard to remember. If anything, it’s serving as a reminder that his chemistry with Louis is hard to beat.

Alfie doesn’t seem to mind being rebuffed, shrugging easily. They step outside and the under the streetlights Alfie’s immaculately sculpted lips, and the seductive slant to his eyes pop. And yet, Harry feels completely neutral towards him. 

Harry doesn’t so much let Alfie walk him home as he’s not sure how to turn him away. He came to pick Harry up for their date, and seems determined that the right thing to do is to escort him back. Each zebra crossing they have to wait at leaves Harry with pinched lips, shifting his weight on his heels. It’s not a far walk, but it’s uncomfortable to keep playing pretend when he knows he has absolutely no interest in Alfie beyond possibly borrowing his lecture notes at some point.

Luckily, Alfie doesn’t even try for a kiss, bringing his arms up and pulling Harry into a hug that feels far too long. Harry’s so focused on angling himself away just enough that it’s not rude, but still not welcoming. He takes two steps at a time up the stairs to his flat, not making an effort to turn back and wave goodbye again. 

Harry’s loath to think it, but it seems Niall might be right. While he didn’t have a terrible time with Alfie, he’s not particularly eager to see him again. If he looks at the situation objectively, he can picture himself kissing him, and maybe doing more, but there’s not really any desire there. He’d be doing it out of a sense of obligation which is exactly what he’d been fighting in the first place. 

So. 

He should be able to ask Louis about it. And still, each time they hang out, he’s filled with a low level sense of panic, shoulders getting tight and hunched. He doesn’t think Louis is the type of alpha that would laugh in his face at the suggestion of an O doing the fucking-- but he can’t be absolutely certain, can he?

Perhaps that’s why the topic comes up when they’re at the library, surrounded by hushed conversations and bent heads. Sitting across from each other under headache inducing lights.

“Louis,” Harry mumbles, watching as Louis sucks his cheeks in, pen sliding along the seam of his open book. It’s supposed to look like he’s reading, paying attention, but he isn’t. Harry knows him well enough that he can tell. He’s just waiting for Harry to continue. 

“Yes, Haz?” Louis asks after a beat. Harry’s throat gone dry with nerves. It’s ridiculous, really. Louis has held Harry’s legs open and coaxed him through orgasms until he was screaming, wiping off sweat and come off of him, bundled him up with blankets afterward. Harry should be able to be honest. Should be able to talk about sex. 

Before he can change his mind, he flips to new page in his notepad and starts, _I want to try something,_ comes out, the letters slanted and detached from him. He frowns, but still slides the notebook over to Louis.

Louis observes the paper with a slight frown, confusion marring his features. “Okay?” He says with a lilt. Of course he doesn’t know what this could be about. He himself adds to the notebook text.

 **Are we rearranging the stacks?**

Harry almost starts to laugh when he reads it, head shaking. Louis seems intrigued enough to ask, “What is it?”

Harry bites his lip before glancing around them. He whispers, “It’s a sex thing.”

“Oh,” Louis breathes out, mouth dropping open. He shifts in his seat before stealing the notebook back, scribbling something with a concentrated look on his face.

He smirks when Harry grabs the notepad, the words staring back at him making him blush.

**I like sex things**

“This is different though,” Harry says, nerves prickling in his chest. Louis’ excitement and intrigue making things all the more difficult to approach. 

“Different how?” 

“Like. I want to--” Harry tries to indicate what he means with his face, widening his eyes and nodding. Louis’ mouth quirks at the corners.

“I think the first rule of sex things is that you have to be able to talk about it to do it,” Louis comments, and Harry’s whole face scrunches up. Yes, of course. 

He’s not quite sure he wants to say it out loud, bringing his notepad back into play. _I want to do the fucking,_ he writes, the direct words a stark contrast to the nerves bubbling in his belly. He doesn’t look at Louis as he slides the notepad over, doesn’t want to see confusion flash over his face. He starts digging his pen into a groove on the desk, waiting, waiting for something, anything to happen. 

All that does is a soft, “Oh.” Harry looks up to see Louis rolling his lips into his mouth, a small smile still detectable. “‘Ve you been thinking ‘bout this long then?”

Harry scratches the back of his wrist. How honest is he supposed to be? “Could say so, yeah. There’s a long list” -- Harry nearly chokes on his choice of words -- “Um, of things I want to do yeah.”

“Oh?” Louis’ brows arch, the tip of his tongue pulling at the corner of his mouth.

Harry’s fairly certain his face is scarlet, nose and cheeks heating up as he swallows. “We’ve uh. We’ve done them all.” Louis’ brows arch even farther, and Harry can tell he’s fighting a smile. Doing a piss poor job of it, too. “Just this left.”

Louis nods, adjusting his fringe. “And you’ve got someone in mind?”

“I don’t have anyone in mind.” It’s a bloody lie. With Niall’s needling Harry’s actually managed to convince himself that Louis might be interested. He doesn’t want to mention his original plan of just finding a beta or another omega. It’s not what he wants anymore, anyway. “Just don’t want it to be some random person, you know? Someone who’ll forget about me.” 

“Hardly think ‘nyone will be forgetting about you, love.” Louis’ face turns tender. “Not to be pushy or whatnot but--I’ll do it. If you want. We’ve got the chemistry, at least, yeah?” Something about the way Louis’ eyes flutter has Harry’s lungs burning. He can’t spend long thinking about it though, blinking furiously at Louis’ offer.

“I...” Harry trails off, mouth hanging open. “You’re serious?”

Louis shrugs, but Harry can tell from the way that his fingers twitch, his knuckles rubbing along the spine of his book, that he’s stepped out of his comfort zone. 

“Might as well, yeah? How many Alphas can say they took it up the bum?” He whispers the last part, but Harry’s eyes still widen as he scans the room. Louis seems to be enjoying his nervous demeanor, smirking at Harry’s flushed face. Back in his comfort zone just like that.

“Louis,” he tries to reprimand, but is met by a sly smile. He speaks through gritted teeth, “We’re in public.”

“Love. You’ve got to care less what people think.”

Harry’s concern isn’t for himself, not really and he tries not to frown as he watches Louis lean back in his chair, a slight squeak as it scrapes across the floor. He really doesn’t seem concerned at all, and when he puckers his lips in thought Harry’s heart skips a beat. He knows Louis more than by stories told through a game of Chinese whispers. Of course his Louis doesn’t care.

“Are you prepared, then? Since you’ve been thinking about it?” Louis continues, undeterred. 

“Prepared?” 

“You know, for those less...glandularly gifted.” 

“Oh my god,” Harry says through sudden laughter. Leave it to Louis to ease the tension. He has to squeeze his eyes shut to tamp down on his chortle. They’re definitely attracting attention now. “I can take care of it.” He’s not sure how he’s supposed to act normal when Louis is reminding him to buy lube and condoms in public.

“In the next two days?”

“I-- yeah, I s’pose.”

“Alright, good. I’ve got a free night then, if that works for you.”

Harry’s fairly certain his breathing stops, just for the time it takes for his brain to catch up on what Louis said. He nods on an exhale, a soft, “Yeah, good,” barely detectable. But from the glint in Louis’ eye; he heard it.

“Now, Haz, it’s time to get back to the matter at hand.” Louis taps his pen on the table, a quick smirk detectable before he goes serious. “I’ve still got to finish this coursework though, and you’re supposed to help me focus.

“Right. On the fishing quota, yes. Very important.” Harry nods solemnly, and again, Louis’ face breaks into a smile before he schools his feature.

“I’m glad we’re agreed.”

“We are,” Harry says with finality, and picks up his own book. 

Still, the rest of their study date is a wash. Each time Louis’ feet knock over Harry’s he’s reminded of the set date in his calendar and he can’t even think about it without his fingers starting to shake, and his lungs growing tight. 

He’s pretty sure Louis has some nerves as well, from the way his mouth pinches when their eyes meet, nose wrinkling. But still. He’s not the one who’s in over his head.

+

“‘M not sure how to start,” Harry mumbles. He’s so nervous and he can’t verbalize it. Doesn’t want to, not with the risk of scaring Louis off.

Not that that seems likely, with the way he’d walked into Harry’s bedroom less than half an hour ago, steps certain and eyes boring into him. Harry’d never felt more under Louis’ spell as when he watched him undress. Shirt lifting to reveal the smooth plane of his stomach, abs tensing as he moved towards Harry to pull of his clothes as well. Louis’ breath warm, even, and calming against his skin. Close-- but not as close as Harry wanted him. Each time Harry nipped for another kiss he would get rebuffed kindly, Louis’ nose pressing against his cheekbone, or his throat. 

Even now, with Louis lying naked on Harry’s bed, he still seems as in command as ever and it leaves Harry dizzy with nerves. He stretches out on the bed diagonally, his arms and head dangling off the corner as he stares at Harry. “Touching’s good. Good way to start.”

Harry licks his lips. It’s weird, having the intent there. Every other time they’ve hooked up they’ve gone with what felt right in the moment, what Harry craved just then. Each touch came naturally, without motive. But this time he’s supposed to fuck Louis and they both know it. Harry had hoped that if -- when -- he got that point on his list it would just happen. Like everything else has just happened. But of course, logically, it makes sense that it would require planning. 

Harry tries to keep his hand steady as he drops it at the top of Louis’ spine, and smooths it all the way down to his arse. His heart in his throat. The skin of his fingertips throb as he presses them against Louis. His scent is strong and intoxicating, and Harry wants nothing more than to just lay back and have it consume him, but that’s not what they’re there for. They’re here for him to take the lead. 

As he pushes his palms firmly against Louis’ ribs, he can feel the beating of his heart, steady and forceful. 

“How”--Harry licks his lips--”how d’you want it?”

Louis purses his lips briefly, a thought flitting across his face. “Well, from behind might be easiest. You might like that.”

“Think I’d like it any way,” Harry mutters. Louis’ got a hold of his cock, taking long pulls and teasing his foreskin. He’s so wet. Everywhere. Harry’s cock and his arse both leaking, pulsing with want. 

But that’s not what they’re there for. He focuses on the throbbing in his cock. “Okay, then, turn over, please.”

It looks like Louis might tease him for a split second, but then he just flips over and practically thrusts his arse out in Harry’s face. He tries to keep his breathing even, but he knows it stutters out, and as Louis turns back slightly he can see the smirk on his face. He’s proud of putting Harry on edge like, the bastard. Harry absolutely has to prove that he can do this. 

The fresh bottle of lube and condoms are next to his hand on the bed, and his fingers slip as he tries to open it up. Harry’s glad that he can grimace as he squeezes the bottle, watching the gel coating his fingers. His nerves are catching up with him, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to overcome the fear of fucking up, scarring Louis for life, or even hurting him.

He couldn’t live with himself if that happened. 

For good measure, he aims the bottle right between Louis’ arse cheeks, squirting some out. Louis hisses, and Harry mutters, “Sorry.” 

“S’okay, s’needed. Just didn’t expect it, yeah. M’good.” Louis shifts his weight on his knees again, the back of his thighs flexing under Harry’s palm. Harry’s slow and deliberate as he circles Louis’ rim, holding his cheeks apart with his other hand. 

“I tried to--” Louis starts as Harry rubs more intently. His one finger pressing in on a hiss. Louis clenches around him, and Harry has to will his heart to slow down. “Tried to prep myself a bit.”

“Oh?” He has to blink away the sight of Louis with his fingers in his own arse. Louis with his arm twisted behind him, pushing into himself. Harry’s breath goes ragged at that, throat suddenly dry. Harry asks because he feels he feels like must, “Didn’t trust me to do a good job?”

Louis scoffs. “Didn’t think it’d be right, not knowing what it felt like.”

“You know I’ve fingered an arse before,” Harry punctuates with a slight twist of his finger. His knuckle pressed tight against Louis’ perineum and he uses his other hand to pull at Louis’ cock, trying to keep him hard. Feels like a lot of work. Different from when he touches himself.

“Oh?” Louis stiffens at the mention, and it makes Harry frown instinctively. That’s not right at all. That’s not how this is supposed to go. 

“Myself, yeah,” Harry says, voice nearly cracking on the word. 

“Oh,” Louis exhales, relaxing instantly. Harry doesn’t want to think about what it means, the way Louis’ muscles seemed to slacken. He’ll take it, whatever it is. It’s hard enough to focus on fingering him. 

“Don’t know how ‘m supposed to fit.”

“Oi, don’t say that.”

“That’s how I feel most of the time, you know, when I look at you. Dunno how it’s supposed to fit,” Harry licks his lips, watching his fingers melding with Louis’ flesh. He’s still hard, which really feels like an accomplishment.

Louis’ exhale is long, his fingers twitching against the sheets. “You think about that? Me inside you?”

“Yeah.” Harry has to swallow right after he says, the honesty making his heart beat even faster.

He’s not sure how Louis feels about it, but it must be good from the way he clenches around Harry’s fingers. 

“‘Re you...are you enjoying it?” Louis asks as Harry tries to spread his fingers. He’s still so bloody tight. He adds more lube, fingers squelching as he works his fingers in and out. 

“Yeah,” he says. He straightens himself up, so Louis can feel his erection pressing against the back of his thigh.

“You-- You wet, too?” Louis asks, as if he can’t smell it. 

“Yeah.”

“Can I?” Louis asks, and Harry’s not quite sure what he wants but whatever it is, he’ll go along with it, doesn’t even mind not knowing. 

Louis twists himself backward, flexible as ever, and Harry watches on as he reaches between harry’s legs, prodding at his hole. Fingers slipping through the slick that’s been running down his thighs. He trembles at the touch, blinks furiously as he keeps pressing his own fingers into Louis. 

He’s not sure how he’s supposed to last, especially not as he watches Louis put his fingers into his mouth and lick them clean, eyes fluttering shut. “Missed this,” he says around his fingers. “Might eat you out after, ‘f you think you can take it.”

Harry can only grunt in response, feeling as if he’s having an out of body experience. He’s the one who’s about to fuck Louis, and yet he feels completely at his mercy, following his whims. 

Louis' bends again, fingers reaching behind him, joining Harry's to feel where he pushes in. The sight has Harry blinking away sweat from his eyes, heart in his throat. He doesn't think he's ever been so turned on. "Doesn't feel the same does it?"

"I-- Yeah, suppose not."

"Want to add some of yours?" Louis asks, and Harry's can't have heard that right. Louis' voice is ragged and strained. Harry's ears must be playing tricks on him.

"My--"

Louis' head tilts in his direction, a smirk covering his flushed face. "Your slick, yeah? The real thing must be better." Harry blinks furiously nodding without moving. Louis mouth twitches. "Get to it, then."

"Right. Yeah." Harry's on autopilot, reaching his other hand behind himself, touching the seam of his arse and the wet mess that coats his skin. If he weren't so focused on Louis right now he might get lost in it, but he's on a mission. Getting his fingers soaked, leaving his nerves wanting more. He reaches back between Louis' legs, pushing in, his slick and the lube melding together as his fingers pulse inside of Louis. It doesn't really feel different, impossible to differentiate the two, but the knowledge that it's there has Harry's mouth slack. He doesn't know how long he pumps his fingers, watching Louis' flesh part for him, fixated on the heat and the soft whimpers Louis is letting out.

“I think ‘m good. Just. Go slow, yeah?” Louis comments, spreading his legs a bit wider and clenching around Harry’s fingers. 

He almost wants to protest, wants to try and really prep Louis properly, but he also is incapable of saying no to him. He feels like his heart has stopped. His own arse is as wet as ever, almost uncomfortable with how much his arse aches to be filled. He carefully slips on a condom, squeezing himself through it, and wetting himself again. 

The intimacy just gets to him, Louis laid out in front of him, hot and tight as Harry pushes inside. There’s so much lube, he slips in easily, jaw slack. His cock feels so good, the pressure, heat and slick wetness more than enough to make up for his empty arse. Even as he grips Louis’ arse, holding him open he can feel a tremble along his wrists.

He can feel his pulse his entire body thrumming with it. His dick twitches inside of Louis’ tight, tight heat and how is he supposed to survive this?

“How do you do this,” he asks and it's low enough that Louis doesn't seem to hear. He has to gather his wits on his own, pulling out and pushing back in as he trembles. 

God, Louis. It's Louis making noises below him, his unmistakable scent. The obscene curve of his back. When Harry's hands slip he ends up cupping Louis’ waist. The curve is more pronounced with the way he’s leaning, and Harry's hands fit perfectly around. 

His arse is still leaking, he's so turned on that he doesn't even care about the mess he's making. He has to focus, focus on making Louis feel good. He clenches as he pulls out the slightest bit, pushing back in. The drag is excruciating; making him feel like he'll combust any second, crush Louis as he collapses over him and never be able to look him in the eye again.

Louis whimpers below him and his heart stills. “Louis. Are you okay?” 

“Mmhm,” he responds. From the way he’s laid out under Harry, Harry can see the flex in his shoulders and his back.

He’s got a buzzing in his ear and he tries his best to make it work for Louis, his arm looped around front as he tries to tug his cock.

His hand is erratic, all of his movements are erratic, really. Louis’ hand knocks his away as he grips himself tight.

“Fuck, Harry, keep going,” Louis grits out, and only then does Harry realized he’s stilled. His brain feels like mush. Their position has his nose rubbed right against Louis’ scent gland and he feels intoxicated. He doesn’t want to move, just want to curl up. But more than that he wants to keep Louis happy. He doesn’t have to ask again to have Harry snapping his hips as much as he can. As he’s pressed against Louis’ arse, nestled deeper than he thought imaginable, he comes. 

It’s unexpected, and he sputters as his hips twitch of their own accord. Louis squeezes tightly around him, and Harry’s eye roll to the back of his head. 

Of course, he has no knot to keep them together so he slips out easily, and falls onto his back, chest heaving with the effort. He stares at Louis at his side, whose hand is still furiously pulling at his cock. He didn’t come. 

“‘M sorry,” Harry mutters and Louis doesn’t acknowledge it, coming for him so quickly they nearly knock heads. He catches Harry’s lips in a rough kiss, biting at his bottom lip until Harry moans. 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Louis says with a smirk, sweat beading at his temple. He stretches himself out as he keeps working over his cock, eyes travelling over Harry’s body.

Harry stares at the thick knot at the base and he can’t tear his eyes away. Even though he’s completely fucked out, he can’t help but imagine how it would feel, stretching him out. He almost feels deprived, mouth watering at the thought of sucking Louis down. 

But he’s too boneless to move, the only thing he has any energy for is lifting his hand and cupping Louis’ cheek. Louis’ head turns just enough that he can lick Harry’s palm, tongue rough and insistent. 

Louis flicks his wrist on every down stroke, keeping the knot from popping fully. It stays at the base of his fist as he comes, lower lip bitten fully, eyes trailing all over Harry’s heaving chest. Harry almost feels deprived, and it’s pure instinct when he reaches out, finger dragging through the come staining Louis’ belly.

“Well?” Louis’ mouth stays open, his tongue poking out of his mouth as he watches Harry lick his fingers. 

Harry’s first thought is that he hopes he hasn’t disappointed Louis. Which is all the more reason he’s completely fucked.

+

After that it becomes hard for Harry to ignore his increasing emotional attachment to Louis. Maybe that’s why people always say omegas shouldn’t fuck without being in a committed relationship. His mistake is that he didn’t even realize it applied the other way as well, and if that isn’t ironic he doesn’t know what is. He’s on high alert whenever he sees Louis, the push and pull of his scent driving him mad; almost as if they imprinted on each other when they had sex. He wants more, always more, craving the high it gives him. 

It’s not even just about the sex, and how addicted he seems to be to Louis’ touch and scent. It’s also how easily they slot together, how much Harry wants them to. He even starts noticing that Louis actually does seem to favour him. He’ll pick Harry first, defends Harry from jabs from others, and steadies him with a solid hand every chance he has. He spends more time with Harry than anyone, and they still text incessantly when they’re apart. 

The first time it really, really hits Harry that he’s fallen irrevocably for Louis they’re picking up food at the shop. Harry’s hosting a get together for one of his study groups to blow off steam after an exam, and Louis offered to help out without prompting. It’s such a simple, boring errand and Louis still just smiles bright, hooking his chin over Harry’s shoulder as he tries to decide between beers, steering the trolley skillfully and filling up their bags for ease of carrying. It’s not that strange for them to run errands together, but his chest aches with how domestic it feels. How he wants to know that they can keep doing this, indefinitely.

The second time is the next day. Louis blinking sleepily and grumbling as Harry pulls him out of bed, because Harry needs help if he’s going to meet Niall’s cleanliness standards. Louis goes through the routine of loading up the dishwasher with his eyes mostly shut, and wipes down the counter the same way. So used to the space he doesn’t knock anything over or hurt himself.

But it’s not just that, it’s also the ease with which he switches gears when they’re done, guiding Harry into the bedroom once they’re done. The sleep is gone from his eyes as they glint with mischief, pearly teeth visible as he bites his lip. 

Fingers cradling Harry’s hip bones as Louis walks behind him, pushing him front first until he’s kneeling. Harry arches into the touches instinctively, stretching out as his pants get peeled off. He has no idea what he’s in for, but his cock’s already perked in interest, arse twitching. 

“Beautiful,” Louis says, one palm on each arse cheek as he spreads them. The compliment twines along Harry’s spine and he doesn’t complain, doesn’t even feel undeserving as Louis gets down and presses his mouth against him. He spreads his legs so Louis can get more access, thorough licks making him twitch with the need for more. 

“ _Yes_ ,” Harry hisses as Louis starts to suck, tongue flicking against his skin. Harry can vaguely recall a ghost of his past self, feeling odd being put on display like this, essentially presenting himself for mounting; for consumption.

But here, with Louis’ tongue whispering filthily against his skin and his fingers pressing into him-- he’s never felt better. Never felt more wanted. Louis’ fingers are intent and insistent, and Harry grinds back into the touch.

“Love seeing you like this,” Louis mutters, and Harry shivers all over. 

Louis snakes his free hand between Harry’s legs, pulling at his cock. He’s now got fingers in Harry’s arse and a fist around him, and still it doesn’t feel like enough.

Louis presses in so deep, insistently pressing against Harry’s spot. It makes him keen and he’s never been so wet. Louis keeps talking about it, saying How Harry’s slick is practically covering his arm. That he can’t wait to lick it off. 

His knuckles are against Harry’s rim and he wants more. He wishes he could be on Louis’ cock instead, the incessant pressure coming from his knot as it popped inside of him. 

“Louis--” Harry starts, practically out of his mind. “Want you.”

“You’ve got me, babe,” Louis says as he spreads his fingers. His other thumb circles the head of Harry’s cock. And still Harry can all but imagine how much better Louis’ knot would feel, and it’s the thought of it that finally makes him come. 

He’s never felt like this; the unbridled desire for Louis to fill him to the brim, take and take until there’s no part of Harry left that he hasn’t touched, hasn’t owned. Of course he’d thought of Louis fucking him. Especially after getting the chance to fuck him, he couldn’t stop imagining the reverse, couldn’t stop trying to figure out what Louis would do and say, how he preferred to take his mates. Got off the hardest when he imagined being locked in with Louis, the skin of his neck pulsing with a brand new mark. 

But it was never like this; in the heat of the moment, fully wanting to be claimed. So much so that coming down from his orgasm leaves him disappointed that it hadn’t happened.

He collapses onto the bed, and Louis thrusts against him. Harry spreads his legs, allowing Louis’ cock to slip between them as he settles behind him. Harry’s breath catches each time Louis’ knot presses against the back of his bum. He’s so sticky, and too tender still, and yet he wants nothing more than for Louis to shift his hips and aim at Harry’s still slick hole instead. 

Christ. He squeezes his legs tighter around Louis, and he gasps above. “Fuck, Haz, you’re too much.”

He speeds up and his knot rubs against Harry’s thighs, the slick easing the way. How hot it is, and large, just makes Harry want it more. He can’t imagine having it all inside of him, but Christ does he want it. He’d never felt or seen Louis’ knot fully popped, since he usually tried to keep it in the base. 

Harry can’t understand why, now. Louis seems to enjoy himself so much more, going incoherent and babbling nonsense. His nails dig into Harry’s hips, and he keeps rubbing his forehead against the back of Harry’s neck.

“Harry--” Louis moans out before he cuts himself off with a pained groan. He stiffens up and Harry can feel the come coating the inside of his legs, joining his slick as it paints his skin. 

Louis collapses, and Harry does his best to turn them around, getting Louis on his back. Harry takes his time to wipe Louis down as his chest keeps heaving under his touch. That, and Harry steals multiple long glances at Louis’ knotted dick. Itching to touch it, but knowing he’s probably over sensitive right now. He’d read that being exposed wasn’t the best when knotted, and he could tell why from the way Louis keeps twitching. His fingers seem to want to grab hold of himself, but he pulls away, fisting the sheets.

Harry wants to make it easier for him, and he reaches out, pulling his hands away from the sheets and threading his fingers with Louis’. “Harry,” Louis says on an exhale, blinking hazily up at him. 

His name is raw and tender on Louis’ lips, and it physically pains Harry to hear it, his chest feeling as if it’s about to burst. He wants nothing more than to accept it with open arms. He wants more than just these moments with Louis. This fake courting while they’re both technically available. He just wants Louis, all to himself. And it seems Louis wanted it too. 

There is absolutely no way they can keep pretending.

The knowledge is lodged at the base of his throat. But he can’t tell if he’s filled with dread or anticipation. There’s no way Louis doesn’t feel the same. Not with them being the way they are. Not with each rumor Harry’s heard over the past six months turning out to be completely fabricated. Not with how Louis looks at him. It has to be mutual.

And yet, he’s unsure. Because Louis allowed Harry to turn him down the first time. He’s allowed him to go on dates, even asking about them, and been there afterward for tea and a cuddle. 

“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted?” Niall asks, when Harry’s explains his dilemma to him. Naturally, he’s completely unsurprised at the revelation, more frustrated that this meant he’d lost his bet with Bressie. “Thought Louis would be the one to cave and say something t’be honest.”

Harrys scoffs at that. He was plenty capable of making the first move. That’s what he’d been practicing this whole time. “I’ll have you know I’ve been making the first move plenty, so there.”

Niall nods happily, chin tilted upward. “Ah, well. ‘f you’re so good at it why are you bothering me and not telling Louis you want to court him for real?”

“It just can’t be this easy.”

Niall shrugs with one shoulder. “Me ‘n Bressie was easy.”

“Can’t compare that. You’ve got yourself a traditional courtship and all. I already turned him down once. And now you’re saying I should tell him that I changed my mind?”

Niall blinks at him, mouth twitching. He’s not even trying to keep a straight face, the bastard. 

“What?” Harry asks, as Niall continues to lose it progressively, slapping his hand over his mouth.

He shakes his head before answering, a grin overtaking his face. “Think he probably knows already, t’be honest.”

+

Harry knows he has to say something but he doesn't know how. He certainly doesn't plan on confronting Louis without a script of some kind. 

But then he doesn't count on running into Alfie when they're out for coffee after class. Louis’ going on a tirade about Harry’s scarf isn’t functional enough and that he’s exposing himself to the elements, fixing it tighter around Harry’s neck. Harry wouldn’t mind avoiding Alfie, except he joins them in line. His eyes flick towards the way Louis tucks Harry’s scarf under his collar. Harry hadn’t even thought about how possessive it must look; and he has to swallow down the delight at that. 

It must register, because Alfie keeps pursing his lips when Harry introduces them. Louis doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Harry would even go so far as describing his face as smug, particularly when Harry grabs his hand and squeezes it.

“So that was Alfie,” Louis says once they’re alone again. He smiles with his lips pressed together, but doesn't let go of Harry's hand, and there’s no irritation at Harry for being civil with him. 

That's the moment Harry cracks, the dominoes falling into place. “You never cared.” 

Louis frowns at that, concern marring his features. “Hey,” he says, pulling Harry closer and squeezing his hand. “What do you mean? I always cared. ”

Harry shakes his head because Louis doesn't get it. Of course, because he's not in Harry's jumbled mess of a head. “I mean Alfie. And all the other blokes, I mean. You even told me at the party that you didn't care who I was flirting with. “

“‘D have to be a fool to turn you away, Hazza.” The nickname is supposed to keep it light, Harry knows, and he’s still so amazed that Louis doesn’t get it. Of course not; he can’t know that this is exactly what Harry was looking for. Thought he was actually dating Alfie. “You thought I was dating Alfie and you still wanted to see me.” 

“Did you--” Louis head shakes minutely. His fingers loosening their grip and slipping from Harry’s. “Did you not want me to? I thought--I mean you told me once already not to. That you didn’t want to see me I figured, uh. I figured if you didn’t you’d. Say something I guess?”

“No, I don’t-- That’s not what I mean at all. I mean, it didn’t bother you, did it? I could have you, anytime.” Harry nearly flushes as he says it back, the depth of it only registering now. 

He feels bloody idiotic. 

Louis has been right in front of him, all along. Louis who can turn Harry on with a single look. Whose saliva is intoxicating, whose scent calms Harry. Louis. He’s exactly the type of alpha who didn’t care how many people Harry fooled around with. He was still there, waiting for Harry at the end of the night. 

He started this whole project because he was looking for someone like Louis-- or well. For Louis, really. And somehow… Louis is still the only person Harry’s been with. 

Harry’s almost forgotten that he’d said anything at all when Louis answers, “I did care. I didn’t want you to get hurt, mostly. But I also know how important it was to you to just. Explore. And as long as I got to see you at the end of the night, as long as I could make you smile. It was worth it. I don’t care who else you’ve been with, Haz. I just want to be your final choice.”

Harry exhales, and he almost feels like he’s about to burst. “Fuck.”

Louis buries his head in his hands. “I cocked it up, didn’t I? We can still. Just friends is enough, okay?” Louis pleads. “I might need to like. Stay on my own for a bit but I can handle just being friends if that’s what you want.”

“No, I--” Harry swallows. He crowds Louis, bringing his arms around Louis’ shoulders. “I never thought you’d be the type to settle down.”

Louis face falls again and he shakes his head. “Those bloody rumours, right?”

“I--” There’s no point in denying it, no matter how much it seems to hurt Louis. “Yeah.”

“That’s why you found me that first night, isn’t it?” Louis’ voice is small when he asks, but he still brings Harry closer. His hands rubbing against Harry’s back. As if trying to comfort him. 

“Yes,” Harry confirms. He presses a kiss under Louis’ ear, and another a bit further down. Continuing until he’s got his mouth in the hollow of Louis’ throat, feeling each pulse in the thin skin of his lips. He’s begging for forgiveness, and he hopes Louis can tell.

“Because you thought I’d be easy.”

“I thought you wanted easy. And I was so easy for you,” Harry pauses with a deep breath. “I’d wanted you for ages. You have to know that. I truly-- I just had heard so much. And I thought if I got it out of the way--”

“Got me out of the way?”

Harry winces at the words coming from Louis. But it’s true. That’s essentially what he’d been thinking. “I thought if I got you out of the way then I could move on. Maybe it wouldn’t be that good. Maybe it’d be boring. I could just strike through it and get on with my life without being hung up on you.”

“Christ.” Louis shakes his head. “I wanted to talk to you, that night. That’s the funny thing innit?” Louis cocks his head, corners of his mouth tugging down before he covers his face with one hand. “For you, I was the easiest in the world. Just you though.”

Harry stills, fisting the fabric of Louis’ shirt. 

“That’s why I came out to the back garden. Knew you were out there. And I just. Thought it was my chance.”

“Oh.” Harry licks his lips. “Sorry, you said...for me.” Louis nods in agreement. “But I--”

“You’ve heard otherwise, yeah. I know.”

Harry starts to laugh unable to control himself as it punches out of him. God. “You know-- I said I wanted to get you over with yeah? I was gonna move on to other people but.” His chest deflates as he exhales forcefully. This is it, the moment of truth. “You’re the only one I’ve done anything with.”

“I don’t-- I’m the only one?” Louis seems confused. “What about Alfie?”

Harry laughs, lip bitten. “No, we didn’t even kiss.” God, he hopes he’s not revealing too much now. But Louis has essentially just confessed to waiting around for him for as long as it would take. For as many conquests as Harry might have had. “You’re the only one, yeah.”

“But you’ve been dating? I’ve seen you flirting.” His eyes are dark as they dart over Harry’s face. It feels almost like Harry’s being exposed entirely.

“I tried. I did try. But none of them were interesting. Every time I would’ve rather spent my time with you. And usually I’d find you after anyway.”

Louis head dipped back, and his breath whooshed out of him. “I have to ask, Harry when you say I the only one...I just need to know exactly what you mean.”

“I snogged a couple of people before you. But that’s it. Since you it’s only been… you.”

“I didn’t pressure you, did I?” Louis sounds so concerned, and then he curses to himself. “Fuck I mean, that’s no way to ask that question is it.”

“You didn’t. I pushed for everything. You think I didn’t notice? S’partly why I felt like a lost cause with you. My whole list of things I wanted to do they’re all-- you’re the only one I’ve done any of them with. Seems you got me hooked early.”

“Babe, Haz. I didn’t-- I just didn’t want you to feel pressured. Ever. Wanted to take things at your pace.”

“You did, you really did.”

They’re back to holding hands, Harry’s entire body pulsing. Outside of sex, he doesn’t think he’s felt this euphoric before, or any more like he belongs to someone.

+

Once they’re official, Harry expects things to move quicker.

Maybe it’s because he’s found the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and he can’t wait for that to start, really. He can’t wait for them to mate, and to move in together. He can’t wait to sort their shared laundry, to make them supper and have Louis bring him breakfast in bed, even if it is all frozen waffles and canned whipped cream. He can’t wait to share a bed for real; be able to visit and spend the night at the Alpha House without being scared to get Louis into trouble.

Although he realizes that even weeks ago, he and Louis fully passed for a bonded couple. It’s something Alfie mentions at their next study session, that he’d been curious about who Harry’s mate was since he’d come off as unavailable during their date. 

“You thought I was cheating on him?” Harry asks, incredulous. 

“Odd thing, introducing me to him if you were don't you think? “ Alfie just laughs. “Wasn’t much cheating, was there? More like sushi between friends. Definitely weren’t making any moves.”

Which. Is technically true. Harry just can’t believe it all worked out in the end. 

Save for that little matter that he’s never been more sexually frustrated. 

It’s not that they’re not having sex. They definitely are. It’s just that Louis is taking things excruciatingly slow. Like right now, he’s got Harry spread out on his back, hands gripping Harry’s wrists, keeping them pinned over his head. Harry’s still wearing his old rugby jersey, sweat staining the front. Louis doesn’t seem to mind; heaving heavy breaths each time he pulls away. 

Their mouths are hot against each other but Harry wants more. Louis grinds his hips against Harry’s, the hard line of his cock pressed against the top of his leg. He drops his thighs between Harry’s spread legs, rubbing against Harry’s erection. Louis slips a hand between Harry’s legs, and a smile overtakes his face when pushes past Harry’s sac, fingers getting soaked in slick.

Even with that slight touch Harry could easily come--he certainly has in the past--but he doesn’t want to this time. He wants more, he wants to be closer. 

“Louis, please,” Harry pleads. It’s desperate and needy he can’t even believe he’s hearing himself right.

“You can come whenever you want, babe,” Louis says, punctuating it with another kiss. Harry’s pleased he’s wearing joggers for once, and he shifts around until Louis gets the hint and rucks them down. 

“Yeah,” he mutters and bucks his hips up, closer to Louis. Louis licks his hand and starts pulling at Harry’s cock, and Harry wants to cry. It’s so good, Louis’ hand is so good, but it’s not _enough_. Why won’t Louis fuck him proper now that they can? Now that they’ve already promised one another each other.

But it feels so good, Louis’ fingers working just right. Just fast enough and hard enough, and Harry comes. His old jersey getting stained, just like that. Louis bites down on the collar, wetting the fabric with spit as he jerks himself off, breathing Harry in. 

It’s laughable, really. There’s no way Harry can complain, but still. He’s having the best sex of anyone, possibly ever, but he can’t get himself fucked by the alpha he’s courting. It’s absurd.

“Louis?” Harry asks later, when they’re having a second breakfast on the rug in the living room, _Never Mind The Buzzcocks_ on the telly. “Why won’t you fuck me?”

Louis breath stops short and he drops his spoon into his cereal. “Is that something you want?” Louis asks back, and it’s so casual and what the fuck. Of course this is something Harry wants. How can Louis not know that?

“Yes? Of course. Why wouldn’t I want it?” He’s pretty sure he sounds bloody offended, but he well is. Why wouldn’t he want that? They’d done everything but.

Louis wipes his mouth with his thumb, mouth twitching before he speaks, “You never mentioned it, babe. You’ve not really had a problem asking for anything before. There was a list, wasn’t it? Didn’t hear about that being on it.” 

Louis shrugs, as if it were that easy a concession.

“I. I wanted to save that. For something serious,” saying it makes him reel, still, his heart free-floating in his chest. For good measure, he adds, “And I’m serious about you.”

Louis smiles wide at that, an almost laugh escaping his mouth. “I’m serious about you too. And thank you for telling me.”

“I can’t believe you really thought…”--Harry shakes his head, fingers pinching his lips--“And you were okay with that?” Harry’s still incredulous. His forehead is tensed as he tries to process it. 

Louis’ presses his thumb between Harry’s brow, evening out the frown. “Haz,” he says, dropping his hand to cup Harry’s jaw. “You could tell me all of things we’ve done already are off the list. All of them. And I’d still be okay with it.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, and it’s more like an exhale. Louis laughs again, and presses a kiss to Harry’s mouth. “You’re a lot, you know?”

Louis’ face is all wrinkled up, mouth stretched wide as he laughs. “I suppose.”

“In the best way,” Harry feels the need to add and he's met with a soft smile and a playful tug of hair.

+

After that, every moment Harry sees Louis had the potential of being The Moment, and he’s on high alert. He thought it would happen when Louis took him out and they went through two bottles of wine and split dessert. Fingers intertwined as they walked back to the Alpha House. Instead Louis slipped his mouth around Harry’s cock as soon as they locked his door, and Harry struggled to keep himself upright. 

He thought it might be the next morning, in the shower. Louis had a spacious shower and the water was always the perfect temperature, and Harry wouldn’t mind that at all. The enclosed space and the steam contributing to the haze he was always in around Louis. But Louis ended up fucking Harry’s thighs as he pulled him off, instead.

Harry thought it might be the weekend his roommates would be gone, and he asked Louis if he wanted to stay over. The thought, ‘as a trial run,’ zipped through him, and he could feel himself getting excited. 

But Louis brought spliffs and his Xbox and they ended up marathoning films and playing video games and cuddling. The pot made them both horny, but they were so sensitive they rubbed off on each other, easily, messing up the communal blankets in the living room.

Harry might’ve built it up in his mind the slightest bit. But even on nights that they ended up just crashing together, bodies pressed close-- those would’ve been perfect for something more. But Louis’ tight embrace was enough to lull Harry into a restful sleep, every time. 

He’s woken up one such morning with the weight of Louis’ chest firm against his back. He’s reminded that Louis skipped out on brunch with his housemates just to be with him, and he snuggles in closer. 

The farther back Harry scoots, the closer he gets to Louis’ very prominent erection. And once he feels it it’s impossible to ignore. He tries to stay still, clenching his thighs and arse in the hopes that it might spur Louis into action. 

The proximity is driving Harry mad. They’ve barely touched and he’s sweating. His pants are damp already, he can tell, and he can’t wait anymore.

He whimpers and rolls over onto his stomach, bringing Louis with him as he’s lands heavily on Harry’s back. Their sweat plastering them together.

That seems to be enough to wake Louis’ up, and a dry smack of lips precedes his sleep roughened voice. “Oomph,” Louis breathes out. “Morning, babe. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Startled isn’t,” Harry starts and tries to press his arse back, spreading his legs the tiniest bit so Louis’ cock can slip between them, “the word I would use.”

“Oh.” Louis must feel how damp he is, even through both their set of pants. His hips start circling lazily and that’s exactly right. 

“Please don’t make me beg,” Harry says, and it’s mostly muffled by the pillow he’s biting into. But Louis must understand him, because his weight is lifted suddenly, cool air hitting Harry’s back as sheets are pulled away. 

“Yeah?” Louis asks, and Harry turns his head just enough to nod fervently. He doesn’t care to play coy. Even in his sleep haze, he knows he wants this. 

“Don’t know how you do this,” Louis mutters, as he stretches towards the bedside table to grab the box of condoms Harry bought ages ago. By the time he returns, Harry’s shuffled his pants all the way off, and he kicks them carelessly off the bed. 

“Tsk, tsk,” Louis says although his own pants join the pile, where the sheets have also fallen off. “Niall would be very disappointed with such littering”

“If you’re going to talk about Niall I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”

Louis’ laugh bounces against the walls and Harry melts into the mattress. “He shall not be named, cross my heart,” Louis says. He knees up between Harry’s legs, hands spreading his thighs.

Louis’ fingers press against the flesh of Harry’s arse, parting his cheeks carefully before pressing his thumb inside. It’s not enough, really, but knowing more is to come sends a thrill down his spine. He rubs his knee against the sheets, mouth dropping open in a silent whine. 

“More, Lou, please,” he mutters.

“Thought you weren’t going to be begging?” Louis says on particularly devastating thrust, a second finger joining the first. His voice sounds strained, like he’s holding back.

The room is still hazy, and the only thing keeping Harry aware that he’s awake is the press of Louis’ cock against his hole. It’s insistent, and Harry pushes back ever so slightly, blinking hazily and falling to the feeling. He takes a long, deep breath as Louis slides into him, the very _thereness_ the girth and pressure deep inside shocking him.

“Y’okay?” Louis asks, petting some of Harry’s hair to the side of his head. It must be a mess, but Louis strokes it lovingly. 

Harry blinks hazily and nods. “Keep going.” Louis presses a kiss along the shell off Harry’s ear before he starts rocking his hips. 

They haven’t moved much. Louis’ front is still warm against Harry’s back, his breath warm and fleeting along Harry’s neck. One of Louis’ hands is flat against his belly as he tries to get Harry to raise his hips. 

He’s held Harry like this so many times, fucking his thighs, fingering him, stripping his cock. But none of that compares to the closeness of feeling Louis’ cock splitting Harry open, his hips strong as they push against Harry’s arse. He’s already flush with it; can’t go any deeper and Harry must be imagining it but it feels like he can feel Louis’ pulse inside him. The beginning of his knot already snug against his rim. 

It’s like they belong like this, his arse clenching around the intrusion. 

With his hips raised, Harry puts his weight on his shoulders, twisting his mouth away from the pillow. He knows Louis loves to hear him. Harry grips his own cock. He’s wet at the tip already, and he uses it to easy the slide of his hand. 

Louis catches on, says, “That’s it, babe. Feels good yeah?” His voice has a rawer quality to it. Harry could listen to it all day, let it worm its way into Harry’s brain and stay there, narrating his entire life.

“Yeah-- s’like, s’like you belong there.”

Louis hisses at that, his teeth quickly catching along the slope of Harry’s shoulder. _Oh._ That thought excites Harry far too much, he squeezes around Louis’, which is met with a groan.

“You like that thought? Me marking you?”

“Uh-huh…” Harry can barely speak, not with Louis grinding deeply into his spot. Distracted by the way he’s tingling allover, can’t even focus on anything other than the dots piercing the black behind his eyelids.

Harry can’t contain the guttural whine that escapes his throat when Louis starts thrusting, nearly pulling out all the way and punching the breath out of Harry as he pushes back in. 

Louis rakes his teeth along the line of Harry’s throat. Harry tips his head to the side as much as he can, baring as much of his neck as possible. His pulse is rocketing, probably strongly enough that Louis can feel it. But fuck, how he wants it.

“Someday,” Louis whispers, before lathing his tongue out on the same spot he just skidded with his teeth. Each lick sends a tremble throughout Harry’s limbs, and he’s so happy to just stay still, each part of him that Louis is touching feeling electric.

Harry can feel the drops of sweat coating the back of his neck, Louis’ scent overpowering him fully. His hand moves faster and faster until Louis’ knocks it away. 

“Lou--”

Louis squeezes him at the base, and Harry’s nerves snap to attention. He sucks in breaths, trying to stave of the need at the pit of his stomach. 

“Want you to come with my knot in you.”

Harry’s legs tremble at that, and he nearly collapses back onto the bed, Louis’ sure grip the only thing keeping him up.

A breath and a,“Yeah,” escape his lips before he feels it. Louis’ knot insistent against his rim, and the slick easing the way. Opening him up even more than he thought possible. Filling him as Louis keeps grinding his hips. He’s unable to catch his breath and counts the stretch of time until Louis’ knot is fully inside him. Harry can swear he can feel Louis’ heartbeat pulsing through him. 

There’s too much: Louis sucking at his skin with wet smacks, his own cock throbbing, his arse throbbing and his senses, everything, is _Louis_. “Lou--” Harry starts, breath stuttering before he has a chance to finish. 

“So good for me, babe, so perfect,” Louis mutters, each letter falling into Harry’s hazy consciousness. Louis punctuates his praise with a squeeze of Harry’s cock, and it’s just enough to tip him over the edge.

He shakes apart, come spilling all over his hand and sheets and with a whine high in his throat. There’s ringing in his ears, and when it quiets down he can make out Louis mumbling, “That’s it, babe, that’s it, just like that, beautiful.” He keeps repeating himself, pausing only to place gentle kisses along his hairline.

“I can’t believe you thought I didn’t want _that._ ” Louis bursts out laughing, and as they tremble with laughter. 

They take turns showering, since Harry’s doesn’t quite fit two people without forcing someone to leave some limbs hanging outside the curtain. While Louis showers, Harry plucks out the list from its hiding place.

He hasn’t updated it since the first night Louis fingered him. It had felt like a pointless exercise at that point. Still, now, he felt compelled to scribble out Louis’ name next to the remaining things. He added BOTH KINDS next to Sex before pinching the paper between his fingers. 

“It’s over,” Harry says and his mouth twitches. Sure, he’s glad he doesn’t have to worry about a list, but without it he wouldn’t have found Louis. Or gotten him, really. That list was responsible for a lot.

“What’s that?” Louis asks, hair wet and sticking up all over the place. His belly button shining with moisture and the light patch of hair leading down to his groin matted. 

“The original list,” Harry mutters and holds up the paper. 

Louis hums. “Hmm, why’s it over though?” Louis’ fingers flick towards the paper, and Harry rolls his eyes.

“Please, you just want to see it.” He watches Louis’ fingertip drag along each item on the list. It’s not the first time Louis has seen it-- he’d been so curious about what Harry’s list contained that Harry conceded easily when he asked. He’d felt guilty at first, the feeling that he’d used Louis for his list in the first place still a fear in his mind. But then Louis insisted on recreating all the items, and adding thigh-fucking, which Harry hadn’t even realized was a thing until Louis’ knot was pulsing between Harry’s legs, nudging against his sac. It certainly made for an amazing visual. 

 

As if to confirm Harry’s suspicions, Louis snakes an arm around his middle and pulls him in closer, face burrowing into Harry’s neck.

“It’s our history, babe.”

“It’s sad.”

Louis shakes his head, breath hot against Harry’s skin. He can’t believe how easy he is for Louis, even now. 

“It’s not done. There’s so much more we haven’t done yet, yeah?”

Harry shuffles around so he can stare at Louis more easily. The list ends up dropped back on the bedside table. 

“We already added one of your suggestions.” 

“Mhm, but there’s a lot more.”

“Oh? Like what?” Harry’s genuinely curious now, intrigued to hear how far ahead Louis has thought. That and, he’s getting loose in Louis’ arms, and all he wants for Louis to keep talking.

“Well, we could just copy that list and say each thing has to happen in public, for one. Heats, ruts, haven't been through either of those together yet.”

Harry gasps softly at that, feeling himself stir. Christ. The back of Louis’ hand is against his side, and he could trace the path of each knuckle as they graze Harry’s skin. 

“There’s wanking.”

At this, Harry scoffs. He settles himself better against Louis’ chest. “We did do handjobs, can’t believe you forgot about that one.” He tries to sound indignant, and while he doesn’t expect Louis to take him seriously, he doesn’t expect the low chuckling sound Louis emits.

“No, I mean wanking. You do you, I do me. We watch each other.”

“We’ve done that too,” Harry says, nearly offended. How could Louis forget about that?

“We’ve done it at the same time, yeah,” Louis says, and Harry has gone so slack in his arms that Louis’ chin is dipped over Harry’s shoulder. The scruff of his jaw rubs at Harry’s skin, and he never wants it to stop. “Haven’t gotten to watch you just go at it, though. Wouldn’t mind sitting back at the foot of the bed, watching you writhe on your own.”

Louis’ knuckles graze against Harry’s cock, half hard. It doesn’t need much more to get to full attention, Harry shakily breathing through his nose. “Wanna see what you’d do. How early do you get started?” Louis turns his hand and opens it up, his palm now gliding against Harry’s cock, pressing it against his belly. His hips twitch, the surprise pressure leaving him out of breath.

“How early do you start? Do you wait until you’re leaking?”

With an easy move, Louis shifts his grip so his other hand presses against Harry’s arse. He’s wet already, and Louis’ finger presses against the sensitive rim. He’s still a little raw from earlier, but Louis knows how to be gentle. 

“What d’you do when you’re alone? D’you tease yourself? Or do you start hard?” Harry gasps as Louis’ finger broaches him. He’d think it was too soon but the glide is easy. Harry looks down to watch Louis’ wrist flick a he works one hand inside of Harry and one outside.

“I-- I--” Harry feels like he should answer, but he’s at a loss for words. Louis wants to know, doesn’t he? Or he wouldn’t ask. 

Louis stills for a second, asks, “Y’alright, Haz?”

Harry exhales shakily, aching for Louis to resume and he nods feverishly. He tucks his head back as far as it can go over Louis’ shoulder. Tipping his chin high enough that his throat is exposed. The spot where Louis will one day mark him permanently, currently throbbing with want. 

Louis ducks his head down, pressing his lips against it as he picks up the pace.

“S’not all though, there’s toys, too. Some that might feel like fingers,” Louis says as he presses a second finger inside. 

“Some will be much larger. Larger than my knot even.” Louis crooks his fingers just right and Harry’s gasp ebbs through him. “We can even do combinations.” Louis finally, _finally_ wraps his hand around Harry’s cock, thumb catching the tip before starting to pump his fist. His pulls are long and thorough, gliding over his sensitive skin.

“You could be stuffed with a toy. One of those nice ones that are remote controlled? Have one of those in you and I’ve got the remote.” Harry shudders, and he clenches his arse at Louis’ words. His fingers still working deeply. 

“Maybe I can blow you while you’re like that. That toy can do much better than just my fingers.” Harry can’t even imagine how, considering he’s practically breaking open on Louis’ fingers right now. “But that seems easy. You could also fuck me again with the toy in there.”

Harry can’t control the sound he makes at that, a strangled cry. He’s right-- right at the edge and he tries to alert Louis by digging his fingers into his thigh. Louis grips the base of Harry’s cock, and Harry can breathe again for a second.

“You’d like that?” Harry asks and he had no intention to, but now it’s out. “You’d do it again?”

“If you wanted to babe, I’d do most anything. I just want you, Haz. Whatever way you want me.” Louis’ voice is ragged and the strain is evident. 

Harry grinds back against Louis’ fingers, and he starts moving his fist again. He stops talking, mouth occupied at the base of Harry’s throat. He’s being rough, teeth scraping the surface, and Harry thinks he might overheat, might explode into dust. 

“Lou-- Louis,” Harry gets out, and just then Louis nips at him, and Harry comes. He bears down hard onto Louis’ fingers, his thighs trembling with the force. His come splatters over his and Louis’ thighs.

Louis’ fingers slip out easily and he maneuvers Harry down the bed. He gets up on his knees and straddles Harry’s thigh. His one hand cups Harry’s jaw as he works over his own cock. His knot is already formed at the base, and Louis’ eyes flutter shut every time he nudges it. 

Harry can look at himself, somehow, and see Louis watching him. He’s boneless and limp, his only efforts to reciprocate reduced to licking at Louis’ fingers. His skin is blotchy and he’s probably covered in a sheen of sweat. And there’s Louis, watching him with hunger in his eyes. Like Harry’s all he ever wanted. 

“Louis,” Harry says, just because he wants to. He hopes it conveys everything he wants to say. Louis lips tremble as he exhales, the smallest twitch noticeable in the corner. His hand works harder, and Louis stills as his come spills onto Harry’s belly. 

However temporary, it feels like being marked, claimed and Harry has to stop himself from preening at that. From the way Louis’ mouth smashes against his he’s probably not hiding it very well.

“We should add dirty talk to the list,” Louis says, when they’ve pulled apart. 

Harry laughs, and it’s high and light. He rubs at Louis’ chest just because he can. Because he wants to. 

“I think you’ve conquered that, Lou.”

“Mhm, no I mean for you. Wanna hear what you’ve got to say.” Louis presses his thumb against Harry’s skin with each word. Emphasizing it. 

Harry groans because how? How can Louis always be so considerate. So concerned with what Harry _wanted_. It made Harry’s skin hum in the most pleasant of ways. He felt easy and at home in his skin because he was with Louis. Louis, with whom he could be just himself, always, and it would be enough, as long as it was what Harry wanted.

“Niall was right.” Harry laughs. He really can’t let Niall know how right he’s been about everything. How dumb of an idea it was to start with Louis, when Harry’d spent so long pining after him. He suspects Niall knows, though, especially from the way he very unsubtly winked at Harry when he first introduced Louis as his boyfriend.

“What babe?” Louis asks, tucking Harry’s still damp curls away, threading his fingers with the rest of his hair. 

Harry puckers his lips, says, “After our first kiss. Should’ve known you’d ruined me well and good.”

“Ruined you well and good did I?” there’s a bit of mischief in Louis’ eye, but from the way he kisses the palm of Harry’s hand, he knows he’s happy about it. 

“Ha ha,” Harry shakes his head with humor, accepting the press of kisses along his wrist. Louis’ favourite spot to scent mark Harry. 

Louis’ wearing a sly smile when he says, “You ruined me right back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and let me know if you enjoyed it ❤


End file.
